Saved By Your Love
by Chelsie Dagger
Summary: NO SPOILERS!The Carsons celebrate their one month wedding anniversary. Charles tries to explain to Elsie how her love rescued him from an unfulfilled life. Stand alone or supplemental story for Our Little Dream. I've added Robert and Cora to the list of characters. They have a nice little story arch from chapters 21ish to 26ish if you are a Cobert fan. NO SPOILERS FROM SERIES 6!
1. Happy Anniversary

On her one month anniversary, Elise Carson awoke in her very own bed, in her very own bedroom, in her very own house for first time in her life. It was an accomplishment that had taken over half a century to attain, and it was something she'd never expected to experience. Though she was awake, she lay sprawled across their spacious double bed with her eyes closed enjoying her triumph.

Currently, Elsie was the lone occupant of said bed as her lovely husband had promised to cook and deliver her breakfast. Delicious smells reached her from the distant kitchen. There was a tinge of acrid, burn lingering under the otherwise sumptuous smells, but not enough to alarm her. Charles had assured her that he could make do.

Sighing, she rolled towards the window and finally opened her eyes to gaze out on the tops of the trees that were visible from her current position. She smiled to see a tiny bird flit by the window. Spring was coming. Elsie sighed in contentment as she considered the happy events of the past few months. Just when she was preparing for the autumn of her life, love had delivered a late spring. She felt her life was opening up like a sleeping bud. The main reason for that change was the dear man downstairs right now.

Spending their anniversary in their house had been all Charles' idea. He'd arranged with the Crawley family to give them both two full days off. He'd conspired with the workmen to have the kitchen and bedroom completed in time. He had surprised her yesterday when they came by the house on the pretense of inspecting the ongoing work. It was difficult to say which of the two of them found more joy in the surprise.

Elsie closed her eyes again, rolled back to her original supine position. She smiled as she contemplated the blissful turn her life had taken. It was still hard to believe that, after so many years of obligation and duty, she was now a wife being spoiled by a doting husband. In the privacy of their room, Elsie allowed herself to be idle, selfish and deliriously happy.

Elsie felt lithe and limber as she stretched. The morning after her wedding, her body had felt stiff and sore; though pleasantly so. What a difference a little of experience makes, Elsie chuckled to herself naughtily.

Though they had both made it clear that their union was to be in body as well as spirit, it had taken the newlyweds some adjustment to become comfortable with their new physical arrangement. Early passions had been tentative and respectful. For over a week, they exercised their marital right exclusively in the pitch dark and almost fully clothed. It wasn't disagreeable, far from it, but they both instinctively knew there was something more that eluded them. As Charles said later, the mechanics and the technicalities were ' _by the book,'_ but it wasn't quite everything they'd expected. If not for her complete trust in Charles, Elsie might have despaired in these early days.

It didn't help matters that the staff believed it was their right to comment on the conjugal status of the butler and housekeeper. Though most of the comments were innocent, they never failed to mortify Charles. The comments that were not as innocent, usually from Mrs. Patmore or Mr. Barrow, drove him nearly apoplectic. Charles hid his embarrassment well, but brought it into their private rooms. Elsie keenly felt the irony that she could not talk to her husband about sex, though she felt they could talk about anything else. The topic was verboten even if the act was greatly desired.

While their physical intimacy was floundering in unknown waters, the couple had grown ever closer in other ways. There were the joys of cohabitation to consider. The family had empowered them to design their own little suite of rooms from existing rooms in the guest wing. In the end, a large bedroom was converted into a public room with chairs, table and a modest settee. Here, the Carsons could entertain friends or laze about beside the fire on a half day. The attached gentleman's room was the couple's private bedroom. It was almost as spare as their individual rooms in the attics had been. The bed was not even so large as a double, being a mattress left over from when the Crawley sisters were small. Neither of them had any objection to the small bed.

Evening wine and sherry was now enjoyed in their sitting room rather than in one of their offices. Elsie performed her nightly preparations in the bathroom across the hall, while Charles used the bedroom to change into his pajamas. While he waited for her, he would select that evening's wine and see to the fire. Things were cozy and comfortable during these sipping sessions; Elsie even dared to cuddle up to Charles' side which he seemed to enjoy. Still, in that first week, there was an unspoken tension beneath the relaxing evenings.

Elsie drew the crisp sheets closely around her as she remembered the night everything had changed.

Mrs. Patmore had made a particularly lewd comment to Elsie after dinner. Unfortunately, Charles overheard it just as he returned from settling the family in the drawing room. He managed to keep his composure through servant's dinner, but did not linger in his office afterwards. Elsie was forced to abandon her own bookkeeping to follow him up early. She knew it would be a bad idea to let him stew on his own.

"She ought to be disciplined!" Charles roared as he burst into their sitting room.

"Neither of us has the power to do that, Charles," Elsie reminded him calmly.

"Lady Grantham could," Charles countered.

"And would you care to explain to Her Ladyship why you think the cook should be punished?"

Charles' color became a darker red as he sputtered. Elsie felt badly for goading him, but he was behaving ridiculously.

"It isn't anything to get so worked up about," Elsie insisted. "It was just two friends chatting and giving each other a hard time. I started it, really, by making a jibe about her helpful Mr. Mason."

"Just two friends?" Charles half choked. "Two friends discussing…"

"Discussing what friends discuss."

"You mean to just let this go?" Charles demanded in astonishment. "What business is it of hers if my shoe size is indicative of anything else?"

"She didn't intend any harm, Charles," Elsie assured him, struggling not to laugh. "You weren't meant to hear and I certainly wasn't going to answer."

"I should bloody well hope not!" He exploded haughtily. His anger wiped the smirk off her face. He had no right to be angry with her. If anything, he should be apologizing for his behavior.

"There is no cause to curse, Charles Carson," Elsie answered coldly. "Of course I wouldn't discuss it with her. I can't even discuss it with you!"

Charles blinked at her in surprise. How had Mrs. Patmore's crude speculation turned around to implicate him?

Elsie continued to fume, her ire fed by his gormless expression. It was about time they had this conversation, she reckoned, and plowed ahead. "Besides, I wouldn't know what to tell her, would I? I've never even _seen_ it!"

"You don't have to see it to…I mean, you have to have some idea…You've…you know…touched it…" This turn of conversation had Charles mightily perplexed. "I shouldn't think you would _want_ to see it."

"You only think that I don't want to see you because _you_ don't want to see me. You must think my body will be revolting." Her voice cracked with emotion as she didn't know whether to laugh at the absurdity of the conversation or cry at his rejection of her.

"Is that what you think?" Charles' heart clinched as he witnessed her despair. "Nothing could be further from the truth."

"Then how do you explain…what we've been doing?" She demanded.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I suppose I didn't want to be vulgar."

"It isn't vulgar, Charles. It can't be; we're married."

"And that forgives everything?"

"Maybe not _everything_ ," she teased, wondering exactly what vulgar thoughts he'd been harboring. "But I think we are at least entitled to see each other naked."

"Naked? Completely naked?" Charles swallowed nervously at the thought.

"That seems like a good place to start," Elsie said coyly. "Only if you _want_ to see me naked."

Charles nodded frantically. "You've no idea."

"I've a bit of an idea," she'd said, reaching out to remove his cufflinks.

After that day, they'd realized their best course of action was complete honesty. Their intimacy was complete. She was finally free to tell him what she liked and wanted, and vice versa. They could talk and tease and fondle in the sitting room before removing to the bedroom. Sometimes, they didn't even make it to the bedroom. Their new confidence together even helped Charles ignore the snide remarks of Mr. Barrow and Mrs. Patmore. Though he was never pleased by their impertinence, he was able to endure it because the lewdness of the remarks was so far removed from the reality of their love.

The sound of Charles' footsteps on the stairs brought Elsie back around to thinking of last night; their first night in their own home. Just as Charles had not felt free to kiss her properly at Downton before securing the family's blessing, they had both been afraid of making too much noise in their rooms. The freedom to fully vocalize their desires and pleasures had raised the quality of their love making yet again. With their time in their house limited, Elsie had coaxed Charles into an encore this morning, before he'd headed downstairs to cook for them. This morning's session, Elsie's approval had been almost deafening. Besides the delicious ache of her muscles, Elsie's throat was raw from her enthusiastic exclamations. She was sitting up to reach for a water glass when Charles arrived with a tray containing two plates and tea for two.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," he purred from the doorway.

"I'd have been up hours ago if I hadn't been promised breakfast in bed," she rejoined.

"You _were_ up hours ago," he reminded her with a wink. "So I know you're hungry."

He set the tray on the foot of the bed as Elsie pulled a soft, silk robe around her.

"Tada!" Charles uncovered the two plates simultaneously. "A Carson family secret…'Chicken in the Hole'."

"Isn't that supposed to be 'Toad in the Hole,' love?"

"Who would want to eat a toad?" Charles joked as he sat on his side of the bed. "Besides, I can't make Yorkshire pudding. This is all my granddad ever taught me to cook."

Elsie looked back at the plate with new respect. Charles never spoke about his grandfather, so it was quite a treat to learn this little thing about the mysterious man. Apparently, 'Chicken in the Hole' was a piece of toast with a fried egg in the middle. The presentation was impressive, but Elsie wasn't sure why it was necessary. Still, she was not about to ask why they couldn't just have fried egg and toast. Instead, she gave the meal a hearty nod of approval. "Impressive."

"Happy Anniversary, love," Charles beamed proudly.

"This is the best anniversary I could have imagined, love," Elsie praised as she prepared his tea. "What a beautiful gift, you've given us."

"There's more to the gift," Charles said, looking suddenly nervous.

"I don't need anything more," Elsie assured him as she handed him his cup of tea.

"Maybe you don't need it, but you deserve it," Charles insisted.

"I hope you haven't spent too much on me," she scolded with a smile. "We said we wouldn't be frivolous with money."

"And I assure you I haven't been," Charles said. "I'm giving you the gift of me."

"Well, you could have spent a _little_ more than that," Elsie joked. "Besides, I already _have_ you."

"You keep asking about my childhood and I've kept putting you off," he said quietly. "I'd like to tell you now. I hope it will help you understand how much I owe to you for loving me."

Elsie wanted to insist that he owed her nothing. She wanted to assure him the arrangement was mutually beneficial, but she did not want to diminish the value of what he was offering.

"What a lovely gift, Charles," she smiled gratefully.

Charles took a deep breath, ready to begin his story, but Elsie placed a hand on his knee.

"This is not likely to be a short tale, is it?"

"No," Charles admitted.

"I think we should enjoy our breakfast first. Then, we shall have all day to cuddle up and open your gift properly."

"That is a wonderful suggestion, love," Charles agreed with relief. "Breakfast first. Story after."

He was nervous about sharing his story with her, not because he feared her reaction, but because he would be dredging up memories that he'd not thought about in decades. He knew there were pains he had not properly confronted and he worried that there might be unhealed wounds in his past. He didn't want his gift to her to be the burden of healing him yet again.

But he'd already committed to telling her everything. He _needed_ to tell her everything and she needed to hear.

TBC…

* * *

 **AN/Next chapter will be a fleshed out version of Charles' 'story' that I hinted at in Our Little Dream, Chapter 30…**

 _'_ _Some day he would tell her how he'd rejected the life his grandfather and mother had wanted for him. He'd tell her of a young man convinced that he was too high and mighty to be a servant; a young man who thought he was unique and special. He'd tell her how Charlie Carson finally learned the painful truth; he wasn't special. He couldn't even convince a simple girl like Alice to choose him over a charlatan like Grigg._

 _Charles had tried to live an extraordinary life, but he'd failed. He'd returned to service humbled and resigned. He would be what he was born to be. He would be the best butler he could be, but he would be only a butler. He would be content with vanity stolen from the family he served. He would accept the cold, reflected glory due to a servant. He would settle for style and show over substance. Or so the butler had told himself. And so it had been until he met a woman from whom he could no longer hide the man._

 _Someday Elsie would know exactly how she had rescued him, but today was not the day.'_

 **That day has come.**


	2. A Giant of a Man

**Long wait equals long chapter...**

* * *

They ate their breakfast sitting side by side against the headboard of their bed. The only sounds in the room were the clinking of silverware on china and mushy chewing noises.

Charles forced himself to eat slowly, though his nerves made him want to finish the meal quickly. He wanted to get the story started and over with as soon as possible. His wife sensed his unease. Occasionally, Elsie would glance his way as if to see if he were alright. At these moments, Charles would pause midchew and give her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

Though she was not convinced, Elsie felt it was better not to comment on his state of agitation. He would explain things soon enough. Finally, their plates were clear. Elsie used her napkin to brush the small crumbs from the front of his robe. Charles smiled at her gratefully. All the little things she did to look after him never failed to touch his heart.

Charles rose from the bed, set the tray on top of his dresser. He removed his robe and was about to crawl back into bed when Elsie stopped him with a raised hand.

"Could you hand me my nightgown, love?" She pointed to the end of the bed where the silken gown lay where it had landed last night.

"Aren't you comfortable in just your robe?" Charles asked, looking a little disappointed by her request. He rather liked the way the robe clung to her naked body and he very much liked the robe's tendency to fall open when he held her closely in bed.

"Certainly, I'm comfortable, but I'm worried that you might become distracted," Elsie argued, as if reading his thoughts. Charles was about to protest when his arguments were proven moot by Elsie removing her robe in preparation to don the nightgown he had just given her.

He slipped into bed beside her and pulled her to him.

"Charles," she protested weakly before he kissed her silent. One hand cupped her breast as the other wrapped around her back. Elsie recovered her senses reluctantly and broke away from his lips.

"Charles, there's plenty of time for that sort of thing later." She pushed him back.

Charles sighed as he watched her slip the nightgown on before giving him a cheeky grin. "I'm sorry, love, but you married a weak, weak man."

"No weaker than any other, from what I hear," Elsie forgave him gently. Newly clothed, she plumped up the pillows at the head of the bed and gestured for Charles to lean back so she could join him. He obeyed her and placed an arm around her as she cuddled closely to his side. Thus, comfortably situated, Charles was ready to tell his tale.

"Before we start, I want to just say, like most lives, mine is neither heroic nor tragic. There are some low points; people die, bad decisions are made, but I want you to always remember that this story has a happy resolution because everything conspired to bring me to you; to today," he began with faltering words.

"It's poor storytelling to give away the ending," Elsie teased tenderly, trying to make the way easier for him.

"Perhaps," he chuckled softly, glad that she was willing to keep the mood light. "But I don't want you to think I'm telling you this so you'll feel sorry for me or so you'll have to fix me or heal me. You've already done that."

She nodded against his chest.

Charles nodded and began his story in earnest. "I've told you a bit about my grandfather, William Firth. For all intents and purposes, it was he who raised me. He was head of stables for a wealthy family near Farnham who were known for both their stables and their kennels.

"My parents left me with him because their lifestyle wasn't conducive to raising a child." Charles was silent for a few seconds, as if debating how much to explain about his parents.

"Tell me about them, please. Even if they didn't raise you, they're an important part of who you are," Elsie encouraged.

"You were so understanding when I told you about my time on the stage, I considered telling you about my parents then too. At the time, I didn't dare risk disgusting you, or I might have told you that performing was in my blood," Charles said. "My parents were part of the reason I sought out the stage when I left service."

"They were actors, then?"

"Not exactly. My father was a Strongman."

"So are you," Elsie commented, not understanding Charles' meaning.

"No," Charles corrected her. "He was a freak; part of a carnival sideshow. He was the Strongman and a fire eater." Charles paused for Elsie's response.

"Oh," she merely said. This was unexpected, but she couldn't have said what was expected. Finally she had to ask, "How did a groom's daughter meet a carnival Strongman?"

"Ah, well, my mum told me that story a fair few times," Charles smiled to remember. "My grandmother died in childbirth, so my grandfather raised my mum largely on his own. When she was very young, she spent most of her time with one of the estate's farming families. When she was old enough to work, my mum moved into the big house as a scullery maid.

"After she started working in the house, they didn't have much opportunity to see each other, but in the fall my mother was granted time off to attend fairs and markets with her father. My granddad had a good eye for a bargain at these small fairs. He bought some of the estate's best brood mares at these local fairs. My mother usually stuck with him, but in her sixteenth year, while my grandfather was judging the horses on offer, my mum decided to wander the tents of the sideshow. That's when she met my father.

"Edward Gregory Carson was a giant of a man. He was six foot eight if he was an inch. Not tall and wiry like Alfred, but tall and solid."

"Like you," Elsie said proudly, rubbing her hand over her husband's broad chest.

"Even taller than me." Charles accepted the compliment with a kiss to the top of her head. "He would bend steel bars, break chains, lift hundreds of pounds with one arm, and any number of strongman tricks. His stage name was 'Carson the Colossal'."

Elsie did laugh at that. "Carson the Colossal?"

"I suppose Edward or Gregory didn't sound exotic enough," Charles laughed with her.

"I don't know, I think Gregory the Giant sounds quite frightening."

"Well, he didn't think of that. He presented himself as a sort of 'modern day Samson'," Charles explained. "He even wore his hair long, as a nod to Samson. I can hardly remember his face, but I do remember his hair; long, silky and jet black. He wore it down to his shoulders. I remember riding on his shoulders as a small boy, towering seven feet above the carnival crowd with my hands gripping his hair for balance. It smelled like coconut oil."

Charles was silent for a few moments. Elsie waited patiently as Charles processed the long forgotten memory. She rubbed his chest comfortingly as if massaging away the regrets she knew must be gathering there.

"I'd forgotten about the coconut oil," Charles eventually whispered into the quiet of the bedroom. "It made his hair shine in the lights of the carnival.

"Anyway," he shook away the nostalgia threatening to overwhelm him. If he couldn't get past the smell of his father's hair, how was he ever going to tell her about the truly difficult times? "My mother stopped to watch his show. My father claims he saw her immediately. He swore that he fell in love with her on first sight. He was a bit of a romantic, my father."

 _Like his son,_ Elsie thought, but did not say out loud for fear of breaking Charles' building momentum.

"The end of his show was quite something. He would stand on a pedestal, hold his arms straight out and support a set of swings; one on each arm."

Charles held out his arms to demonstrate. _Who's being distracting now?_ Elsie thought as she observed his muscular, bare arms. Thankfully, he dropped his arms back around her and continued his story before Elsie could reach out and caress the contour of his bicep.

"Young women from the crowd would be brought up to sit in the swings. It was very impressive," Charles assured her. "On the day they met, my father called my mother up to be one of the women in the swings.

"My father tried to learn her name that day, but she scampered away before he could. She was too shy to talk to such a mountain of a man, she claimed. Luckily for him, my grandfather brought my mother to several fairs each year. They met many times over the course of several years. Every time he saw my mother in the audience, my father made sure to call her up. He quickly learned her name and sometimes she would allow him to buy her a cool drink or a bag of sweets after the show.

"Their little flirtation continued sporadically until my mother was eighteen. My father, who was four years her senior, asked if he could write to her and she agreed. She said that she agreed because she was sure that her attraction to my father was only physical. She couldn't think straight when they were together, so their conversations were awkward and stilted. Having to endure such inanities in the form of a letter would surely cure her of her infatuation, she hoped.

"My mother did not expect to find my father to be such a compelling correspondent. She had no idea from their brief encounters that my father was well read and well spoken. He was largely self-taught and read voraciously."

 _Also like his son,_ Elsie smiled to herself.

"After almost nine months of letters, my father came down to Farnham from London, where the show was temporarily staying for the Season, to speak to my grandfather. He asked my grandfather for permission to walk out with my mum properly. My grandfather refused, of course. No daughter of his was going to be seen passing time with a carnival freak.

"My father visited my grandfather every day for a week and was rejected every time. On the final day, my father lay down an ultimatum. He loved my mother and believed that she loved him. He would marry my mother with or without my grandfather's blessing. He didn't want to cause a rift between father and daughter, he said, but if there was to be a break, it would be of my grandfather's making.

"My father gave my grandfather one week to decide. He returned to London without speaking to my mother. My grandfather talked to her about her feelings for my father. She admitted that she was in love and believed that she might want to leave service to marry my father. My grandfather granted his blessing for them to walk out together, though he hoped she'd come to her senses.

"My father returned to Farnham, taking a job at the local pub for a few months for room and board. He'd been saving his money since the day he met my mother and could afford a few months away from performing.

"When the show left London to travel again, my mother, now married to my father, traveled with them."

Charles stopped his story here and looked to Elsie. "Do you have any other questions about how they met?"

"No, I think you've covered it all. It's a very sweet story, Charles," Elsie assured him. "It sounds almost like a fairy tale."

Charles smiled and nodded. He was relieved that Elsie wasn't shocked or disgusted by his father's occupation or his mother's controversial choice to leave service to marry into a sideshow act.

"They traveled all over Europe with the show; Ireland, France, Spain, Northumberland…"

Elsie bit her lip to keep from asking her husband how Northumberland rated mention in the company of the other places he'd named.

"They were the happiest years of my mother's life, she often said, but two years after they married, their idyllic honeymoon came to an abrupt end," Charles frowned.

"What happened?"

"Me. My mum didn't want me to be born in a sideshow tent. She moved back to my grandfather's just before I was born."

Guilt was written all over him. Obviously, Charles felt he'd ruined his mother's perfect life. Only a man who had never been a father could think a child would spoil a person's life. Fathers and women knew better.

"I'm sure they were thrilled when you came, even if it meant your mother leaving the road for a time," Elsie told him.

"I suppose," Charles shrugged, clearly unconvinced.

"You can't think that she regretted you," Elsie said, almost angry at his stubbornness. "I'm sure she never said as much."

"Not in so many words. She was very careful not to say it, which is how I know it's true," Charles insisted. "She always remembered those years more fondly than any others."

"I'm sure she remembered them fondly, but that doesn't mean she regretted the other years. I assume she was telling you this after your father had died," Elsie asked.

"Yes," Charles confirmed.

"Then her regret was a product of her grief for losing him," Elsie reasoned. "I'm sure it had nothing to do with you."

"Perhaps not," Charles allowed.

"After you were born, what happened? Did you ever travel with them?"

"No, I only stayed with them when they were in London. Otherwise, I was sent to live in Yorkshire with my grandfather. Like my mother had when she was young, I stayed with farming families on the estate. They took turns with me, as a favor to my grandfather and in exchange for a small stipend.

"Once I reached the age of five, I was deemed old enough to stay with my grandfather in his cottage. I swept and dusted for him while he was away during the day. When he came home at night, he taught me to read and to cook. Well, he taught me to cook one thing." He gestured towards the empty plates.

"He taught me to read by reading out of the Bible every night. None of that Namby-Pamby New Testament stuff, either. My grandfather was all for the fire and brimstone of the Old Testament," Charles remembered lovingly. "I cut my teeth sounding out names in Genesis, Leviticus and the like. I must have read the dreaded Numbers chapter seven a hundred times by the time I was six."

"I'm not familiar with that one," Elsie admitted.

"It's the list of all the offerings the families brought to the dedication of the Tabernacle. 'And on the first day so-and-so, son of what's his face, leader of the who's its brought a goat and a bull and four sheep and a gold bowl weighing umpteen shekels.' There were days and days of offerings," Charles said with a shake of his head.

"Nahshon son of Amminadab! That was the first one!" Charles remembered suddenly. "Fancy remembering that. Those names are difficult enough for adults, you can only imagine how I butchered them as a boy," Charles chuckled.

"Of course, once I could read, I didn't stick to the Bible. My parents wrote to me every week and my father sent me books. After I read a book, my grandfather would let me sell it and buy a different book. He said he didn't want his home to get cluttered with novels and poetry. There were a few that I kept longer than others, but I sold most of them. I do still have a few."

Elsie knew exactly which books these were. She'd often wondered about the seven tattered tomes that Charles kept in his office, but he'd always deflected her questions.

"How long were you with your grandfather?"

"Until I was eight. Though my chores around the cottage were more complex by then, my grandfather felt it was time that I started getting some real work experience. My mother suggested that I join them on the road, but then they were offered a unique opportunity; a four year tour of the British Empire. They were to travel all through Africa, the West Indies, Canada, Australia, Hong Kong, to the Indian sub-continent and back again.

"It was a trip deemed unfit for a child, but my parents promised we'd be a family when they returned. I was sent to work as a hall boy on an estate where a friend of my grandfather's headed the kennels. That estate was Downton. I arrived just before the heir was born.

"For the next four years I received letters from all over the world. My mother always wrote about how much she missed me. My father's letters were more exciting; full of the sights they'd seen and the curiosities he'd bought."

"What was he buying?" Elsie asked.

"Any bizarre thing he could find. The plan was to open up a museum of oddities in London when they returned from their tour. He didn't want to be on the road for the rest of his life. My father wanted to give my mother and me stability. Most of all, he didn't want me to live my life in service. He was quite clear on that point.

"They had a partner lined up and planned to open on Baker Street, not far from Madame Tussaud's exhibition. He shipped all the items back to London to be stored.

"He bought all manner of things; a menagerie of the strange and unusual. There were Mayan artifacts, tribal masks, two-headed snakes, conjoined puppies, a mummified mermaid…"

"Excuse me?" Elsie interrupted. "Mummified mermaid?"

"He allowed it was probably a chimp's torso sewn onto a dolphin, but my father said it was very convincing. It was done well enough that people wouldn't be disappointed. He found some truly strange things in India," Charles told her excitedly.

"And they thought they could make a business out of this?"

"Several of the traveling shows set up shops in London for the Season, some became permanent. My father wanted to be in London year round. These shops would have a standing museum or 'cabinet of curiosities' and augment that with the occasional fantastic act or a visiting freak. Some of those museums are still in business. It wasn't a bad plan. It could have worked, except…" Charles' enthusiasm died instantly as he remembered why it hadn't.

"Except…" Elsie prodded.

"Except it never opened," he said simply.

"Why not?"

"When their four years were up, they traveled from India through Egypt before catching their ill-fated ship in Alexandria."

"Did something happen to the ship?"

"Yes, and no," Charles said sadly. "The ship reached England intact, but many of the souls on board did not. My grandfather and I were there to meet the ship when it arrived at Southampton. Since the family were in London for the Season, I'd been granted time off. When someone pointed out their ship to me, I waved and jumped as if they could hear me from so far out. I was so happy, I must have looked like a fool. In my excitement, I hadn't seen the yellow flag."

Elsie had never seen a yellow flag herself, but she knew what it meant. She'd heard old sailors tell stories of their nightmarish stays on quarantined ships.

"Yellow fever?" She asked.

"Cholera. The ship's water was contaminated. They were given fresh water when they arrived in England, but it was too late for most. Everyone on board fell ill on the journey and, eventually, over half died; including my father.

"The ship sat off shore for over a week. Every morning brought a new list of the dead. The families of those who'd died in the night were taken out in a small boat to observe the burial at sea. One morning, my grandfather and I were on that boat.

"They didn't read out the names. We just stood on the deck and watched them push half a dozen canvas-wrapped bodies overboard. I knew which one was my father, though. It took four men to tip his body into the sea. Even in death, he was a giant of a man."

His voice trailed off, choked with emotion as his attempt at a joke failed. Without warning, hot and painful tears began to fall from his eyes. He did not sob or lose his breath. He did not try to stop the tears, but let them flow freely. He knew there was no holding them back any longer. They were the tears he hadn't let himself shed all those years ago nor since. They were the angry, confused tears of a young man who had felt abandoned and betrayed. They were the guilty, insistent tears of a man who had never truly grieved for his father out of a warped sense of spite.

Charles sat up as if to leave the bed. With one hand he tried to hide his face from Elsie, ashamed of this sentimental reaction, but she would not let him turn away. She drew him back to her side and lay his head on her breast. She kissed his hair as she cried with him, her own giant of a man. It was clear to her that he had never faced or processed this grief for a man he had hardly known. For a father he had never been able to make proud.

Finally, the tears were done and they lay silently for a while longer. Elsie combed her fingers through Charles' hair, wondering absently what it would look like if he grew it down to his shoulders like his father.

"Happy Anniversary," Charles said sarcastically, but with a smile in his voice. Elsie chuckled, glad to hear that he was recovering quickly from the unexpected emotions.

Charles sat up and kissed her damp cheeks. "I'm sorry, love. I don't know where that came from. This isn't the story I meant to tell you."

"Yes it is," she said, kissing him and cupping his face lovingly in her hand. "You promised to tell me about your life. This is precisely the story you were meant to tell."

He smiled, accepting her logic and forgiveness. "I love you," he sighed. "And I'm so grateful that you love me. I don't tell you often enough."

"I know it isn't easy for you to say such sentimental things, Charles, but you're doing much better," Elsie half teased.

"Thank you for that." Charles kissed her forehead tenderly. "Now, while we're already having a not so jovial discussion regarding my father, I've got something to show you."

He reached over to the bedside table beside him and opened the shallow drawer. He pulled out a book that Elsie recognized; the pocket sized 'Book of Common Prayer'. Elsie knew that he kept it in the bedside table back at Downton also. Charles was a regular church goer, but he was not what one would call devoutly religious. Before they were married, Elsie had seen it on several occasions; when he was sick or when there was a fire alarm. She'd always wondered about his attachment to the little book, but had never asked him about it. After they married, all Charles told her about the treasured heirloom was that it had belonged to his mother.

"My grandfather gave this to my mother when she married. Perhaps he thought she needed it because she was entering the sideshow world full of demons and temptations. Perhaps it was just a family tradition; I never asked."

He turned the tiny book over in his hands.

"You know that this little book is the only possession I would wish to save in a fire."

"After saving me, of course," Elsie reminded him.

"Naturally," Charles affirmed. "But you are not a possession. And you do not fit easily in the pocket of my robe."

"Point taken," Elsie accepted. "What is in this book that is so valuable?"

"Besides belonging to my mother, it contains my father's last letter to me." Charles opened the book and withdrew a fragile, yellowed piece of paper. "This letter might help explain why I sought out a life on the stage rather than simply staying in service as my mother and grandfather wanted."

He opened the brittle page gently and held it up for her to read.

TBC…

* * *

 **AN/ We'll all get to read the letter next chapter and a brief glimpse into Downton of old.**

 **Sorry for the long delay. I had a bit of a fight with this chapter AND the weather has been beautiful! If you have the time, let me know if you like the notion of Carson the Colossal.**

 **Two? More chapters? Or Whatever.**


	3. Last Words

_'Dear Charlie,_

 _I suppose I ought to call you 'Charles' now that you are nearly become a man. Your grandfather writes to your mother that you are taller than he is already. Though that isn't saying much. It seems only yesterday that we left England and you barely reached to my knee. You'll blush to read it, but I remember ever further back, to the day you were born. You fit so perfectly in my hands; curled up like a kitten in a basket. That was the proudest day of my life, but I think my happiest day is still ahead of me; the day your mother and I return to England to be reunited with you._

 _I'm sorry that you've had to spend these years in dreary service. A bright lad like you shouldn't have been wasted waiting on a bunch of stale, entitled bourgeoisie who can't answer their own door. I'm grateful for the work they've given you, and any work is good for a growing boy, but service isn't the calling for any self-respecting man._

 _I wish you'd at least been able to work outside and learn a skill like gardening or farming. I respect your grandfather because he has a skill, but I have a hard time seeing much merit in a grown man whose main job is bowing and scraping and looking good in a suit. I can't imagine how difficult these years have been for you, but you're a good lad for enduring it and there are lessons to be learned in all of life's little trials._

 _I know I haven't been around for so much of your childhood. These past four years have been especially hard on all of us, but I promise they have been worth it. Every sacrifice, every moment apart has been with one goal in mind; to be a family. When we have set up the museum, you shall join us in London. There, I'll teach you some tricks of the family trade. By your grandfather's reckoning, you're a strong lad, and I trust his judgment. Even if you aren't cut out to break chains with your bare hands like your Da, there is plenty I can show you. Lesson one will be how to rope the rubes in with a good yarn that will keep them on the edge of their seats and loosen their grips on their cash._

 _I've promised your mum I won't teach you any of the fire eating until you're older. Have you been practicing your juggling? You'll never get any better if you don't practice every day. If you prove that you've mastered it, I'll let you try juggling knives. We won't tell your mum._

 _I can't wait until we are a proper family, building the family business together. Now that you're becoming a man, it's time you had a man's job._

 _Did you read the last book I sent? The Thoreau? I can't wait to hear what you thought of it. How wonderful it will be to be able to discuss your reading and any number of things with you over the dinner table._

 _I must post this now, or I will be home before you receive this. Pray for a fair wind and a following sea._

 _I am counting the hours until I see you again. Until then, I remain your devoted Da, E.G. Carson._

-00-

When she'd finished reading, Elsie frowned up at Charles. "I'm sure he didn't mean…" She began, but thought better of it. Clearly, Edward Carson had not thought highly of a life in service.

"Charles, please tell me you don't think less of your accomplishments because of what your father thought. He didn't understand what it meant to be in service. Just because he didn't see the merit in it doesn't mean there wasn't any merit."

"I know that _now_ ," Charles assured her. "But it took some time and a few very painful lessons. It confused me more than anything; I enjoyed my job as hall boy. I hadn't ever considered it a hardship until my father's letter. The work was steady and regimented. I had time to read in the evenings and I was never hungry. The times I'd spent with my parents on the road were chaotic and noisy. It was always fun for a while, but that life quickly soured for me. Whenever I had to return to Downton, I was glad of it."

"Your father seemed to think you would want to leave Downton for London. Was that not the case?"

"I was in two minds. Of course I wanted to be with my family, but I wasn't keen on becoming a performer. How was I to tell my father that I preferred polishing shoes to juggling knives? After he died, and I was to remain, I felt guilty for being relieved that I could stay."

"You said that his letter led you to the stage. I guess I don't see the connection; aside from his distaste for footmen."

"The letter wasn't the worst of it." He gently took the letter back from Elsie. "My father gave my mother a message for me before he died. I wrote it down so I would never forget it. As if I could."

He folded the letter carefully so that Elsie could read the words scrawled on the back in pencil. His handwriting had improved much since then, but Elsie still recognized Charles' even, steady hand.

 _'Alas for those that never sing,  
But die with all their music in them!' –Oliver Wendell Holmes _

"What did he mean by that?" Elsie wondered.

"Was he talking about himself, or me? Was he just remembering something from the book he'd last read? Who knows. He was near delirious when he said it, according to Mum," Charles said as he slipped the letter back into the prayer book. "I've spent years contemplating it but I'll never know precisely what he was trying to tell me."

"I suppose it doesn't matter exactly what he meant. It only matters what it meant to you," Elsie said philosophically.

"At the time, it didn't mean anything. It only made me angry," Charles admitted.

"Angry?"

"To be fair, everything made me angry for a time," Charles snorted derisively as he remembered the bitter young man he had been. "Angry and confused. His letter and his last words were certainly in my mind when I left service to become a song and dance man. I was perhaps being too literal, but that's jumping ahead in the story.

"After she was released from quarantine, my mother was a shell of her former self. She withdrew from everyone. One of my father's colleagues proposed marriage to her; offered to take care of her. She turned him down. She wanted nothing to do with the sideshow life. She sold my father's collection of oddities for a fraction of what he'd paid for them, which upset me further. I felt that she'd just rendered the past four years' separation, including my father's death, meaningless. I didn't understand that she couldn't abide any reminder of the life they had dreamed of, but she would never live.

"She found work as a Lady's maid to an elderly countess in Manchester. I returned to Downton."

Charles set the book aside and gazed absently out the window contemplating how he should describe the next segment of his life. Elsie waited patiently in his arms.

"I'd never had many friends at Downton, as you would expect." He didn't have to explain to Elsie how resentful young maids and hall boys could be towards peers who worked harder than themselves. Elsie had no doubt that Charles had been a diligent worker. Jealousy was only natural.

"But I had my books. I could escape into the worlds created by Shakespeare and Scott. I found every relationship I needed in the pages of Dickens; Magwich, John Jarndyce, Nancy, Mrs. Nickleby. They were my friends; my family. I learned about contemporary issues from the early works of Twain and Hardy. Most significantly, through my reading I found an unexpected ally.

"Old Mr. Donnelly was curator of the Downton library. He'd visit the Abbey once a month to bring new books, organize the existing collection and oversee the cleaning of the more delicate tomes. For this task, he needed a helper. I'd like to think I was chosen because I was so well read, but I was probably selected because I was the tallest of the hall boys.

"I would reach down the books, wipe the leather bindings with a polishing rag and read out the name to him. I'd been helping him since I was ten years old. Before they renovated the library, I could have told you where to find almost any book."

"And Mr. Donnelly befriended you after your father died?"

Charles shook his head. "He was always nice to me and appreciated my work, but he was not interested in making friends with a hall boy. He'd given me permission to read some of the newer books as long as I did so on my half days, did not remove the book from the library and returned them to their proper place on the shelves. If the family were away on my half day, I would spend the entire afternoon standing by the cases reading."

"Standing? Why didn't you just sit down to read?"

"I didn't dare sit down in the library, even on my half day," Charles said, aghast that she'd suggested otherwise. "Not long after my father died, I was spending my half day in the library. The family were away visiting and not expected until just before diner. I was engrossed in Thoreau's Journals when I heard a deep voice behind me..."

-00-

 _"What do you think you're doing?" Lord Grantham bellowed._

 _Though he was startled, Charles resented being interrupted, even by the Lord of the manor. He could not stop himself from answering sarcastically. "I should think that would be obvious, milord. I am reading."_

 _"And what are you reading, boy?"_

 _Charles bristled at being called 'boy'. "To quote Hamlet, 'Words, words, words.'"_

 _"Those happen to be my words that you are reading," the flustered Earl insisted. He was not use to such impudence._

 _"Mr. Thoreau might disagree with you on that score, milord."_

 _"You know damn well, what I meant. These books are for the family's use."_

 _"Mr. Donnelly said I might read here on my half days if the family were away," Charles said defensively._

 _"He does not have the authority to grant that permission," the master of the house frowned. "Your being here is against the rules."_

 _Charles knew that he should just apologize and slink out of the room as quickly as possible, but something wouldn't let him. Maybe it was a need to rebel against a male authority figure. Maybe part of him wanted to be sacked; wanted a reason to leave service in pursuit of a life that might make his father proud._

 _"Well, I'm certain you know what Thoreau says about rules, milord," Charles responded calmly, though his heart was beating in his throat. He needed this job, but he also needed to unleash his frustrations on someone._

 _"Refresh my memory," the Earl, now intrigued by this audacious lad._

 _"'Any fool can make a rule,'" Charles quoted. "'And any fool will mind it.'"_

 _"Does that make us both fools, then?" Lord Grantham asked, barely suppressing a grin. He was rather enjoying this strange encounter._

 _"Either both of us, or neither of us, milord," Charles rejoined. "I suppose the choice is yours."_

 _The perplexed Lord and the secretly terrified hall boy stood looking at each other for several heartbeats. Charles held out a slight hope that his humor would be tolerated. It was widely reported that Lord and Lady Grantham appreciated wit. If the footmen were to be believed, dinner conversation was often full of sarcastic banter and lively debate._

 _"Well played, lad," Lord Grantham laughed heartily. "Join me in a whiskey, won't you?"_

 _"I shouldn't, milord," Charles protested, suddenly shy._

 _"I've tolerated your insolence thus far, lad, but my benevolence only goes so far," Lord Grantham joked._

 _"Mr. Brooks wouldn't approve. He doesn't even know that I'm in here." Charles greatly respected Downton's butler and did not wish to get him in trouble with the master of the house._

 _"Why do you care about the rules all of a sudden, lad? Take the drink."_

 _"I don't drink, milord. I'm only twelve, milord."_

 _"Only twelve?" The Earl looked more closely at this tall young man before him. "I'll have to speak to Lady Grantham. I think we've been feeding the staff too well." Chuckling to himself, Lord Grantham added a large splash of water to one of the glasses he had filled. He handed the glass to Charles who took it without further protest._

 _"What's your name, lad?" Lord Grantham asked as he settled into his favorite chair beside the hearth. Charles remained standing._

 _"Charlie Carson, milord."_

 _"Charlie? You're the hall boy that was meant to leave us last month," Lord Grantham recalled as he tasted his whiskey. "Lady Grantham and Brooks were both very sorry to see you go. Did you change your mind?"_

 _"It was more a change of circumstances than a change of mind, milord," Charles answered, choking slightly on his first sip of whiskey. He'd had wine with Christmas dinner, but never anything as strong as what he now held. "More accurately, it was a lack of change of circumstances."_

 _"I won't even pretend to understand what you mean," the Earl shrugged._

 _"My parents have been abroad," Charles explained. "I was to join them in London on their return, milord, but it was not to be."_

 _"Did they not return?"_

 _"My mother did, milord, but my father died on the journey."_

 _"You have my condolences," Lord Grantham said sincerely. "Losing one's father is always difficult, but losing him while you are still so young…I propose a toast. To your father…what was his name?"_

 _"Edward, milord."_

 _"To Edward Carson, beloved father and husband."_

 _Charles mumbled an echo and drank a large gulp of watered down whiskey which caused him to sputter slightly._

 _"You won't be leaving us then?" Lord Grantham asked after an appropriate pause._

 _"Not in the foreseeable future, milord," Charles replied, astonished by the relief that filled him at these words._

 _"Mm," the Earl answered. "We'll have to find a better way for you to read. I can't have a hall boy hanging about in the library on his half day. Lady Grantham would not approve."_

-00-

"The next time Mr. Donnelly visited, he began a library ledger and it was announced that the library was available for staff use," Charles told his astonished wife as the cuddled in their bed.

"The Downton library ledger system was created for you?" Elsie asked in amazement.

"I suppose you could say that," Charles nodded. "If you could find that first ledger, the first entry would read, _July 15th, 1869, H.D. Thoreau, 'Civil Disobedience', C.E. Carson."_

"And you and Lord Grantham were friends after that?"

"I would not go so far as to call him a friend, but we did develop a sort of relationship. I was certainly a favorite of his," Charles conceded. "That fall, I was promoted to fourth footman. Sometimes, during a slow dinner, Lord Grantham would ask me questions about what I was reading. I always had a few choice quotes available for his entertainment. It was the least I could do to repay his kindness regarding the library.

"Soon, even Lady Violet was prompting me for comments during dinner or at breakfast and tea. She never spoke to the second or third footman at all."

"I'm sure your fellow footmen loved the fact that you were a particular favorite of the Lord and Lady of the house," Elsie astutely observed.

"As I said, I never had many friends at Downton," Charles shrugged. "All that mattered was that I had the books. Even with all the new footman duties, I found the time to read almost a book a week. I was still restless, but, for the most part, I was content. I was too busy to think about how disappointed my father would be in the life I was living.

"Mr. Brooks took me under his tutelage and began to groom me to be butler one day. I began to learn about wine. By the time I was twenty-three, I was second footman and captain of the house cricket team. The course of my life seemed charted before me. And then, my grandfather fell ill."

TBC…

* * *

 **AN/ Birthday festivities interrupted the writing of this chapter. I hope it's coherent:)**

 **Also, I didn't get around to responding to the last round of reviews. I will do so later today (hopefully), but please feel free to review this chapter in the meantime. I've had this Charlie Carson/ Old Lord Grantham 'meet cute' in my head for a long time.**

 **I think we might visit London next chapter.**


	4. Bitter Words

"My grandfather was in his seventies and still running the stables with a firm hand and a clear mind," Charles said proudly. "He rode everywhere, even though the estate offered him a horse and carriage of his own. He said it was good exercise, but most people thought he was being proud."

Elsie nodded in understanding. Riding on horseback would have made Mr. Firth stand out amongst the common folk; usually only gentlemen travelled in such a manor. The average person would have used a wagon or carriage for transportation if the distance was too far to walk.

"His pride was his downfall. While returning from some business at a neighboring stables, his horse threw a shoe. He had to walk back over seven miles in a terrible shower. He was a stubborn man and never one to trust doctors. By the time anyone knew he was ill, his cold had developed into pneumonia.

"My mother was in France, attending to her mistress, so I was sent for. Thankfully, the family were away, visiting relations in the south. I was granted time off to see to him.

"I wasn't nearly as patient then as I am now," Charles said, ignoring the skeptical look from his wife. "So you might imagine that I was not a very good nurse. I think my persistent presence angered him as much as anything at first.

"Thankfully, after a few days, my mother arrived from Paris to help look after him. His fever was down and his cough better, but he wasn't out of danger. Even with the precarious state of his health, my mother and I enjoyed the rare time together. There were long stretches where the two of us could sit by the fire and chat while my grandfather slept. It was the most we'd spoken since my father's death."

Elsie could hear the carefully concealed bitterness in his voice, but she let it pass without comment. He was obviously building to something.

"One evening, we had the conversation that changed everything for me."

-00-

 _"He's doing better now," Charles said casually as he cleared the table and brought the dishes to his mother at the sink._

 _"Lord be praised," Maeyrn Carson proclaimed._

 _"Perhaps I should be heading back to Downton," Charles suggested tentatively._

 _"And what if he takes a turn for the worse?" She didn't look up from her washing, but Charles heard the fear in her voice. He felt a twinge of guilt, but still felt he ought to return to his job._

 _"You can send young Howie to fetch me. I'll only be half a day away. They've been kind enough to let me stay away this long, I'd hate to take advantage of their benevolence." The truth was, Charles was beginning to feel claustrophobic in this tiny house with a family he hardly knew._

 _"Benevolence?" Maeyrn snorted at her son. "How kind of them to allow you to visit your sick grandfather! They are the epitome of generosity."_

 _"I'd appreciate it if you were more respectful towards the Crawleys. You don't know them," Charles defended his Family._

 _"I know their kind Charles. Some of them can be friendly to a point, but in the end, it's the same story. If you ever step out of line, they won't think twice about sacking you."_

 _"I don't think we'll ever see eye to eye on this, Mum," Charles tried to end the argument._

 _"I just want you to know that you don't have to ever go back there if you don't want to."_

 _"And where would I go instead? What would I do?"_

 _"You could go to London," Maeyrn proposed. "A bright young man like you might do any number of things."_

 _"Starting over in London won't be as easy as you make it sound," Charles argued. "I've grown awfully accustomed to eating on a regular basis."_

 _"So you're content to stay where you are because they feed you? Like some kind of pet?" Maeyrn did not try to hide her disgust as she dried the last of the dishes and turned to face her son. "What would your father say to that?"_

 _Charles frowned silently. He knew his father would have disapproved, but his father would not have understood Charles' life any more than Charles understood his father's._

 _"I'm sorry, love, but it pains me to see you wasting your life in service."_

 _"I'm not wasting my life," Charles insisted. "If I am, what is it that you're doing?"_

 _"This isn't about my life. My chance for a life beyond service ended when your father died, but you're still young."_

 _"Would it surprise you to learn that I actually like my life? I'm well aware that it isn't what Da wanted for me, but I'm good at it and they respect me," Charles said, his voice rising as his anger grew. "When they went to Russia for Prince Alfred's wedding, Lord and Lady Grantham personally asked me to have tea with their children every afternoon while they were gone." Charles had been very proud to be asked to carry on the tradition of afternoon tea with the children. One hour of every day, he'd served tea to Lady Rosamund and Master Robert and listened to them tell him about their day. Honestly, it wasn't very different from when Lord and Lady Grantham were present._

 _"Also, I'm tutoring the young master in cricket. He's to play in his first house versus village match this year."_

 _Maeyrn looked at her son in astonishment. "Quite the cozy family you've got there."_

 _"What do you mean?"_

 _"You've made the worst mistake a servant can make. You think you're part of their family, don't you?" His mother's bitterness surprised Charles. "You're delusional, Charles. You may be a favored pet, but make no mistake; you are still a pet. This is your family; not them."_

 _"They've been more family to me in the past decade than this one has," Charles spat._

 _Maeyrn looked as though she'd been slapped._

 _"I'm sorry," Charles relented. He hadn't intended to be so harsh. "I didn't mean that. It's just that…you've not been around. Sometimes it feels like I lost both my parents on that ship."_

 _"Maybe you did," Maeyrn admitted. "I know I've not been here for you, lad, but I want to help you now. I want to help you fulfill your potential."_

 _"And starting from scratch and starving myself in London will help me fulfill that potential?" Charles asked sarcastically._

 _"Well, staying at Downton certainly won't," Maeyrn countered. "And don't be so melodramatic; I'm not asking you to starve. You'll have your inheritance."_

 _"What inheritance?"_

 _"I set aside the money from selling your father's oddities," Maeyrn told him. "Now that you're old enough, it's time you had it. There's several hundred pounds. That ought to buy you room and board until you find your footing in London. Your father wanted you to have a future. That's why he bought all those things, why he planned…"_

 _"I don't want your money," Charles interrupted. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. For the past decade, she'd been absent from his life aside from an occasion a letter. Now, she was attempting to buy back his affections. "And I don't want to change my life to justify your choices."_

 _"What do you mean by that?"_

 _"Let's be honest, Mum. Whatever decisions you and Da made, it wasn't out of consideration for me," Charles said darkly. "The two of you did what you wanted to do. If you'd done what I wanted, we'd have been a proper family."_

 _"I suppose the Crawleys are a proper family?"_

 _"They have nothing to do with this. You don't get to rewrite the past to make your years of frivolity seem like time spent in exile for my benefit," Charles bellowed._

 _"You can't show up now and tell me I have to fulfill some legacy you and Da planned for me. You turned your back on me when he died," Charles accused. "While your back was turned, I grew from a boy into a man; a man about whom you don't know the first thing!"_

 _"'How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child!'" Maeyrn quoted before falling silent. Her accusatory stare was hot enough to set the air on fire, but Charles' icy glare would not melt._

 _Maeyrn broke first. "Perhaps you should ask your precious Lord Grantham for his advice on the topic."_

 _"Perhaps I will." Charles turned and left the room._

-00-

"I left the next morning," Charles told his rapt wife.

"And did you speak to Lord Grantham?"

"I did. I was certain that he would encourage me to stay," Charles said sadly. "I thought he'd say they couldn't do without me."

"But he didn't?"

"No. He didn't."

TBC…

* * *

 **AN/ Just a short snippet with mother and son today. More between Lord G. (Senior) and our Charles anon.**


	5. Lives of Quiet Desperation

_"London?" Lord Grantham exclaimed. "It's an exciting city for a young man. I wish you well, Charles. Will you at least stay until the village match?"_

 _Charles stood in the library with his feet slightly apart and his hands clasped behind his back. His expression was confused and hurt. He'd told the Earl all about his inheritance and Maeyrn's plans for Charles. He'd come for some guidance. He hadn't anticipated this._

 _The Earl noticed the footman's frown. "I've disappointed you," Lord Grantham stated sadly._

 _"No, milord," Charles tried to lie._

 _"But you expected a different response?" He persisted._

 _"I admit I did, milord," Charles pouted. "I'd rather hoped for advice, not my walking papers."_

 _"I haven't dismissed you, lad. My entire family would have my head if I did anything so rash. I thought you were giving notice."_

 _"No, milord. That is, I'm not sure. It would please my mother, but…" Charles looked helplessly to the older man for rescue._

 _"If Lady Grantham hears that I've counseled you to leave Downton in pursuit of a new life in London, my life will be forfeit," Lord Grantham half joked as he poured out two glasses of whiskey. Unlike the occasion of their first meeting, neither contained water._

 _"I like to think you and I have achieved a kind of civil rapport," Lord Grantham said pensively. "As civil as our different positions allow."_

 _"I believe we have, milord."_

 _"Out of respect for that…affinity, I feel that I must be perfectly honest with you. You've become an integral part of this household, Charles," the master admitted._

 _"Thank you for saying so, milord."_

 _"But I cannot in good conscience recommend that you stay at Downton."_

 _"Why not?"_

 _"You quoted Thoreau to me when we first met. Do you remember?"_

 _Charles nodded._

 _"Let me quote him for you now. 'How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live.'"_

 _Lord Grantham looked at Charles to see if the footman had divined the intended meaning._

 _"I don't want to be a writer," came the confused answer._

 _"I don't mean it literally, lad. If we are lucky, we can be the authors of our own lives. Life is the acquisition of memories. We must experience all we can."_

 _"Must we?" Charles wondered._

 _"How old were you when you came to Downton, Charles?"_

 _"Seven."_

 _"How old are you now?"_

 _"Twenty-three."_

 _"And how much time have you spent away from Downton in that time?"_

 _Charles thought; two weeks with his parents when he was seven and again just before they left, several weeks when his father died and this past week with his grandfather. "Six weeks, milord, give or take a few days."_

 _"Six weeks in sixteen years? How can you have learned anything about yourself? And now you have the opportunity to go to London!"_

 _"I've been to London."_

 _"To work. You've not lived there, felt her beating heart, learned to love her chaos," Lord Grantham said dreamily. "I envy you, Charles."_

 _"You envy me?"_

 _"I was a bit wild in my youth. Before I met Lady Grantham, you understand, but I never experienced the freedom that is being offered to you. My story was written before my father met my mother._

 _"If I'd been a second son or a third son, I might have been allowed to disappear into the city with money in my pocket and no obligations. I might have done whatever I pleased," the Earl said ruefully. "But I was born an heir to a great family. I was born to become the custodian of a great estate; the keeper of a great legacy."_

 _Charles listened in silent awe to the regrets of a man he assumed had everything life could offer._

 _"I love my family, Charles, and I love Downton. I will gladly give my life to and for them, but that doesn't mean I haven't considered how my life might have been. In my youth, I resented my obligations."_

 _Lord Grantham swirled his whiskey before sipping and continuing._

 _"You have served at Downton for most of your life, Charles, but I have been her servant my entire life. You can walk away any time you please, but from the cradle to the grave, maintaining the family name and home is my only mission._

 _"Even now, in my weaker moments, I think of paying off the servants, shutting the doors, leaving the key in the lock and walking away with my wife and children. Not that Lady Grantham would let me," the Earl laughed a humorless laugh and refilled his glass._

 _"I can't make your decision, son, but if I were you, I'd jump at this chance. I'd jump in with both feet without looking."_

 _"Not every man has such an adventurous spirit," Charles said chagrined. "I'm sorry it's such a disappointment to everyone that I'm content here."_

 _"But haven't you any ambitions?"_

 _"My ambition is to one day be butler of Downton Abbey," Charles stated simply. "I know it must sound like a silly ambition to you. It certainly was to my father, but, with all due respect, milord, I'm not interested in living out your dreams any more than I'm interested in living out my father's."_

 _"Of course you aren't, Charles," Lord Grantham said, placating the riled footman. "But consider that there are sacrifices for those who remain in service. Have you ever thought of starting a family? You'd be a wonderful father. I know the children adore you."_

 _Charles bowed his head at this compliment. "I enjoy my time with them as well, milord."_

 _"You're young, lad, and your experience has been so limited. How can you be certain that you are living out your own dreams?"_

 _Charles did not have an answer so he downed the rest of his whiskey and poured himself another._

 _"Here's my advice to you." Lord Grantham began. "I suggest you go to London…"_

 _Charles started to protest, but he was stopped by the Earl's raised hand. "_ _Please, hear me out. I suggest you take a few months' leave. Two. Or three. Or four. You determine the time frame that's best for you."_

 _"How can I predict that?"_

 _"It doesn't matter. Downton isn't going anywhere. Take three weeks or three months or three years to identify your ambition. We'll still be here and I promise, so long as Lady Grantham or I draw breath, there will be work for you here."_

 _Charles blinked blankly at Lord Grantham. "Why would you afford me that courtesy?"_

 _The Earl gave the footman a kind smile. "Because you've earned it. You've been at Downton since you were a young lad._ _Brooks has nothing but praise for you._ _You've established that you are hard-working and loyal."_

 _"Then why do you want me to leave?"_

 _"Because you have other gifts, Charles; intelligence, kindness, a selfless heart. These are all attributes one hopes for in a butler, but they may also be applied to any number of careers. You owe it to yourself to explore your possibilities and your potential."_

 _"You sound just like my mother," Charles frowned. How could he defy the advice of both his mother and Lord Grantham?_

 _"Unlike your mother, I know that being a butler is a noble profession and a worthy aspiration."_

 _"But you're still advising me to go to London?"_

 _"Yes. This way, if you come back,"_ home, _"to Downton, it will be because you chose to. Then, you can pursue your ambitions in service with a full knowledge that it's what you're meant to do and that here is where you are meant to be."_

 _"I'm fairly certain now, milord."_

 _"Every young man is certain, but trust me, you'll regret it someday if you don't take a chance now," Lord Grantham warned. "To quote our boy Thoreau again, 'Most men live lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.'"_

 _Charles froze. "What did you say?"_

 _"Well, it's a misquote actually," Lord Grantham confessed. "A very common one. It sounds better than the original, so I suppose it stuck. The first bit is a paraphrase from Walden. The last bit is from a poem by…who was it now?"_

 _"Oliver Wendell Holmes," Charles finished. He voice was low and cracked as he remembered his father's final message to him._

 _"That sounds right! You see, you're too bright to be wasted here," Lord Grantham said bracingly._

 _"Yes, milord," Charles sighed in resignation. Apparently, the very universe was conspiring against him. It could not be mere coincidence that Lord Grantham chose those very words to persuade Charles. He was meant to go to London, even if he didn't wish to.  
_

 _"So you'll go to London?"_

 _"Yes, milord," he replied flatly._

 _"But not until after the cricket? Mr. Robert would be very sorry if you missed his debut."_

 _"Not until after the cricket, milord," Charles promised._

-00-

"So you never wanted to leave Downton at all?" Elsie asked in wonder.

"No."

"But you went because everyone else wanted you to go?"

"Not quite everyone else," Charles amended. "Lady Violet offered to raise me to first footman if I stayed. When I refused, she was quite cross with me for a time, but she seconded His Lordship's promise that I would always have a job at Downton."

"Did you stay on until the cricket?"

"Of course. I was captain, after all. I'm glad I stayed; it was the greatest match of my life," Charles said proudly. "We beat the village side soundly. You know, the house has only won six times in all my years at Downton. And they didn't win while I was away. Defensively, I bowled seven overs and recorded six wickets. Offensively, I was just shy of a century and not out*."

"Hmm. That's impressive," Elsie said appreciatively, hoping her husband would not realize that she'd only understood a third of what he'd just said.

"You don't have the first clue what I'm talking about, do you?" Charles asked with a grin. It was rare for there to be a subject where his knowledge exceeded his wife's. Wine and cricket were the only two he could think of at the moment. "You watch the game every year, surely you know some of the rules."

"I'm usually too distracted by a certain butler. Just now, I was just distracted by the thought of a twenty-three year old Charles Carson running about on the Downton pitch in his lovely cricket whites," Elsie hummed seductively and closed her eyes as if picturing the scene.

"You like me in my cricket whites?"

"Haven't I told you that?" She knew for a fact that she'd mentioned her appreciation of the cricket match to him since their wedding.

"I thought you were just teasing me. I feel a bit ridiculous in them now."

"But you look magnificent," Elsie assured him. "Like a big, cuddly polar bear. It's a shame that you only wear them once a year."

"I only have cause to wear them _publicly_ once a year," Charles clarified. "I might be persuaded to offer a private viewing for the right audience."

"Don't tease me, Charles Carson," Elsie laughed as she nuzzled even closer to him.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Charles purred. "I like it when we cuddle."

"Mmm. Me too," Elsie hummed. Her hand began to wander appreciatively across his broad chest. "I want to hear all about London, Charles, but I propose we take a break."

"A break?" Charles leaned down to his wife, teasing her nose with his and stealing little pecks of kisses. "That is an excellent idea, love."

His voice was sultry as he spoke between kisses.

"I think…" Kiss. "…that we…" Kiss. "…should take…" Kiss. "…some time…" Kiss. "…to enjoy…" His smoldering eyes locked with hers. Elsie nodded her encouragement. "…a bit of lunch." Kiss.

Elsie swatted playfully at his chest but returned his last kiss enthusiastically.

"Unless you can think of something else we could enjoy first," Charles said with dramatic innocence.

"I might have a few ideas at that," Elsie admitted as she rolled over to straddle him.

TBC…

* * *

 **AN/ They are celebrating their one month anniversary, after all…**

 **I know a lot of people were prepared to be angry with Lord G Senior on this, but I think he would have been supportive of Charles' leaving. We know that Charles returns, so they had to part on good terms.**

 ***The Thoreau misquote is a famous one. I think it is more elegant than the original and wanted to include it. I've pasted both the original Thoreau (from Walden) and the Holmes poem below.**

 ***Cricket speak- 'not out' is a good thing because it means you were the last man standing for your team (and likely got to bat for a while). The 'Innings' is over when 10 of the 11 team members are 'out'. I'm operating under the assumption that the House versus Village game is a one innings game (each team bats once).**

 **The original Thoreau quote…**

 **"The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation."**

 **The Voiceless**  
 **By Oliver Wendell Holmes**

 _ **We count the broken lyres that rest  
Where the sweet wailing singers slumber,  
But o'er their silent sister's breast  
The wild-flowers who will stoop to number?  
A few can touch the magic string,  
And noisy Fame is proud to win them:-  
Alas for those that never sing,  
But die with all their music in them!**_

 _ **Nay, grieve not for the dead alone  
Whose song has told their hearts' sad story,-  
Weep for the voiceless, who have known  
The cross without the crown of glory!  
Not where Leucadian breezes sweep  
O'er Sappho's memory-haunted billow,  
But where the glistening night-dews weep  
On nameless sorrow's churchyard pillow.**_

 _ **O hearts that break and give no sign  
Save whitening lip and fading tresses,  
Till Death pours out his longed-for wine  
Slow-dropped from Misery's crushing presses,-  
If singing breath or echoing chord  
To every hidden pang were given,  
What endless melodies were poured,  
As sad as earth, as sweet as heaven!**_


	6. After Downton

Elsie and Charles smiled smugly at each other over their simple lunch of cold chicken and cheese sandwiches. They were both dressed casually, just in case someone decided to drop by for an impromptu visit.

Elsie wore the skirt and blouse she'd worn at Brighton but without the usual corset. Her hair was tied back in a soft, low gathering. She'd purposefully left a few stray tendrils of hair. She liked the way they tickled the back of her neck when the breeze blew or when Charles' breath stirred them.

Charles wore shirtsleeves and braces with his grey pants. His hair was wavy and untamed. Elsie reflected how different her man looked without waistcoat or jacket; unfettered and wild. Though he was still her steady Charles, there was a relaxed playfulness about him. Elsie knew this was something new for Charles. He hadn't even experienced this kind of easy happiness as a child.

"I wish you wouldn't look at me like that," Charles scolded gently when he'd finished chewing his last bite of sandwich.

"Like what?" She asked innocent, knowing she'd been caught out thinking of his lonely childhood.

"As though you feel sorry for me. I told you, there's no need."

"I can't help it, love. I wish the people in your life had been more supportive of you; more respectful of your wishes."

"It isn't as though my story is rare, Els," Charles argued. "Name me one young man or woman who never felt misunderstood. Every parent wants their children to succeed, but there isn't always agreement on what constitutes success."

"I suppose," Elsie shrugged. She wasn't convinced.

"What did your parents want you to be?" He asked.

"Married; with nine children by the time I was twenty," Elsie laughed.

"You see," Charles smiled. "It's the same all over."

"But my parents didn't make me feel guilty for wanting something different," Elsie persisted. "I just wish there was someone who understood you better."

"There is, but _she_ isn't in the story yet," he said, taking her hand across the table set up in the small sitting room.

Elsie blushed and squeezed his hand.

"Shall we continue the story in the garden?" Charles said suddenly as he gathered up their plates. "The sun is high enough now, the north wall will have some sun."

"That would be lovely," Elsie agreed. She stood up to help him clear, carrying their glasses. They walked through to the kitchen and rinsed the dishes quickly in the large sink. When the dishes were dried and in their place, Elsie gave her big bear a hug.

"What was that for?" Charles asked in mild surprise. "Not that I'm complaining."

"Because I love you." She relished the feel of his shirt against her cheek. It felt like the soft cotton fabric on a pillow case.

"Thank you for that. I love you too."

"Let's find a sunny spot in the garden and you can tell me all about London," Elsie pulled back, but kept hold of his arm so they could exit the kitchen arm in arm. "And I want to hear more about this mysterious woman who understands you."

"She won't be in the story for a while. She wasn't in London," Charles said.

"Just to be clear, you are speaking of me, aren't you?"

"That would be telling," Charles teased back; bobbing his eyebrows at her. He helped his wife on with her coat by the back door.

"It had better be me, Charles. If you are referring to Lady Mary Crawley…" Elsie warned with a laugh.

"Duly noted," Charles laughed as he leaned down to kiss the nape of her neck just below her loose and wispy knot of hair. His wife shivered with pleasure. He pulled on his own coat in one, easy motion and opened the door into the garden.

They strolled naturally towards the sunniest portion of the garden to a small bench. In the summer, the wall behind it would be full of blooms and fragrant in the full sun. At the moment, it was bathed in golden sunlight that brought feeble but welcome warmth to that corner of the garden.

"After the cricket match, I did not go directly to London," Charles began after they'd settled comfortably onto the bench. "My grandfather never fully recovered from his illness and was forced to retire. My mum returned to her mistress in Paris so I went to stay with him, to help out around the small cottage he'd been granted.

"I didn't tell my grandfather that I had left Downton. I told him they'd offered me time off to see him settled into retirement. I don't think he believed me. He probably thought I'd been sacked, but he didn't pester me about it, for which I was grateful."

"Do you think he would have approved of your plan to go to London?"

"I'm not sure," Charles considered. "The most important thing to my grandfather was hard work. I don't think he much cared what work I did, so long as I put in a full day. He wouldn't have liked the idea of me being idle in London.

"I delayed having to tell him by keeping busy around the cottage; painting and fixing things. Three weeks after I arrived, he suffered a stroke and died in his sleep. I was sad, of course, but there was a feeling that it was the right time. Retirement hadn't suited him.

"Mum returned for the funeral. I was grateful that she at least she waited until after the service to start asking me about my plans for London."

-00-

 _"Plan? I haven't any plan. I thought that was the point; to chuck all the plans I've had and be a spectacular failure in London," Charles said sarcastically._

 _"Mind your cheek, lad," Maeyrn said, boxing his ear crisply. "I've just buried my Da. You are all that's left me and I don't need grief from you."_

 _Charles rubbed at his stinging ear. She hadn't struck him hard, but it was humiliating for a man of Charles' age to be disciplined like a child even if they were alone._

 _"Are you going back to Paris?" He asked petulantly._

 _"The Countess is considering relocating to Nice. Her doctor has recommended the climate. She won't listen to him about her diet, but she'll follow his advice if it means moving to a resort."_

 _Maeyrn frowned guiltily at her son. She hadn't meant to be so cross with him. Seeing Charles always reopened wounds she'd thought had finally healed. Charles would never be as tall as his father, but his large facial features were eerily echoes of Edward._

 _"I know you, Charles. You always have a plan." Maeyrn reached out and smoothed a hand over the hair she'd accidentally mussed._

 _"I've decided to try to make a go of it in London with thirty pounds," Charles informed his mother. "That should buy me four or five months."_

 _"What then?"_

 _"If I'm not self-sufficient by the time the money runs out, Lord Grantham has promised that he'll take me back on at Downton."_

 _"The high wire act is never as thrilling when they use the net," Maeyrn sighed. "But it's better than nothing, I suppose."_

 _Charles shook his head and turned away from her. Further discussion was pointless. He was beginning to wonder if she was even capable of saying anything positive to him. Thinking of her analogy of the high wire, Charles muttered, "You'd prefer that I fall and break my neck."_

 _"That isn't true, Charles," Maeyrn vehemently denied. "I wish I could fathom you better. It's just…it's so hard to see you and not expect you to act like your father. You look so much like him, but there couldn't be two more different personalities in the world."_

 _She stepped closer to Charles and bade him turn to face her. She placed a hand gently on his arm. "Your Da was always in motion; full of dreams and energy. You're so measured and calm."_

 _Charles didn't know what to say so he just stood there, waiting. He expected the next thing from her mouth would wipe out the compliment she'd just paid him._

 _"Though your Da seemed so cocksure to the world, he sometimes doubted. That's when he needed me; we needed each other. You're so self-assured. I wonder sometimes if you need anyone," Maeyrn confessed sadly. She was proud of her independent son, but it hurt to know that he didn't need her. She simply didn't know how to relate to him. He was more like her father than her husband, and she'd never understood her father._

 _"I don't know how to help you, Charles. Your Da's money is all I have to offer you."_

 _"You can't buy back the years you missed."_

 _"That's not what I'm trying to do!"_

 _"Isn't it?"_

 _"Your Da bought all those bizarre things trying to make a future for you; for us."_

 _"You don't have to remind me where the money came from. Da sold four years of my childhood for three hundred pounds." His tone was not accusatory. He was merely stating a fact._

 _"You just said that I don't need any help," Charles reminded her. "The one thing I did learn from you and Da was not to rely on anyone but myself. If I'm as independent as you say, it's because of you."_

 _Maeyrn fell silent, thoughtful. She'd never considered those lost years from her son's perspective._

 _"You needn't worry about me, Mum," Charles said gently._

 _"But I'm your Mum and I want to help you. And I do worry." Maeyrn looked up at him with eyes that begged for understanding. "I love you."_

 _"I don't mean to be hurtful, but the time when I might have needed your help has passed. I'm a grown man now. A man who knows his own mind." Charles felt like they'd had this conversation before. Oddly, he found that he had more patience for it now, in the wake of his grandfather's death. This woman whom he hardly knew was his last remaining family._

 _"Please, Mum, let's not argue. I love you too. I'm doing as you asked," Charles sighed. "I'm going to London."_

 _"But you're planning to return to Downton at the first opportunity, aren't you?"_

 _"I promise to make an honest attempt to find a new profession that would honor you and Da, but don't ask me to give up Downton completely just yet."_

 _"It hurts me to know that you feel more loyalty to Lord Grantham than on your own family."_

 _Charles realized that his mother was jealous of the stability the Crawleys were able to give him. Stability wasn't in her nature. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. Internally he thought,_ It hurts me too.

-00-

"A week after we buried my grandfather, I moved up to London. I found a room to let in a boarding house on a noisy street east of Covent Garden. It was small, but at least it was dirty," Charles joked.

"I decided to give myself a sort of holiday before I started looking for work in earnest, provided I didn't squander my money. I walked the streets during the day, taking tea at a shop or in the park. I enjoyed watching the ebb and flow of people through the city. When the tea shops closed, I'd go to a pub and nurse an ale."

"I didn't think you liked beer."

"I don't and I didn't, but the only wine I could afford was swill. I didn't want to develop a distaste for wine. Most evenings I would attend the light opera or a play."

"That wasn't squandering your money?"

"No," Charles shook his head. "Most theatres released a standing room only row at the back that were actually in my price range. Even if the theatre was almost empty, I had to stand.

"As I wandered those first weeks, I considered my options. With my qualifications, I could be a waiter at a posh restaurant or a doorman at an hotel," Charles ruminated. "But neither of those appealed to me. If I wanted to wait on people, I'd rather wait on a family I respect than on random strangers.

"In my wanderings, I always seemed drawn back to Covent Garden. There was always something going on, with just enough of a crowd to provide a certain amount of anonymity. I began to recognize some of the regular buskers. It turns out, some of them were beginning to recognize me.

"One night, I was attending a show, some melodrama or other. The play doesn't matter. What does matter is the fellow standing next to me; Charlie Grigg."

TBC…

* * *

 **AN/ At least 2 more chapters:)  
**


	7. What Are the Odds?

_"May I help you with something?" Charles challenged the shorter man at intermission. "You've been staring at me through the whole play."_

 _"Don't I know you from somewhere?"_

 _"I doubt it," Charles answered tersely._

 _"No, I'm sure I know you. You have a memorable face. You spend a lot of time at Covent Garden Market, don't you?"_

 _"Yes, I do." Charles looked more closely at the man now. "You're that fellow who dances the soft shoe beside the eel cart."_

 _"Charlie Grigg's the name." The small man shook Charles' hand enthusiastically._

 _"Charles Carson."_

 _"Another Charlie! What are the odds?" Grigg chuckled._

 _"Quite good, actually. Charles is one of the most common names in…"_

 _Grigg laughed heartily. "It's just an expression, mate."_

 _"Right. Well, nice to meet you. Enjoy the show," Charles said dismissively._

 _"Easy there, Charlie boy, where are you off to in such a hurry?" Grigg stopped him. "Second act won't start for a while yet."_

 _Charles couldn't argue with that, so he decided to stay and talk. He actually did have some questions for this Grigg fellow._

 _"Can you really make a living at busking?"_

 _"In the short term. I make enough to keep a roof over my head and eat most nights," Grigg said jovially. "Today was a particularly good day, so I decided to indulge in a play. It's a kind of research. I always need new material. I have to stay current on what people are seeing."_

 _"You mean you steal songs and steps from the shows you see?" Charles teased.  
_

 _"Stealing is such an unpleasant word," Grigg said with a smile. "I pay homage to the popular works."_

 _"I see," Charles smiled back._ _Despite himself, Charles was intrigued by this energetic man._

 _"Busking is just temporary," Grigg insisted. "I'm really a song and dance man. I've been on the stage, but I'm taking a break."_

 _"A voluntary break?" Charles asked._

 _"Not exactly. I lost my partner. It's no easy matter replacing him."_

 _"I'm very sorry for you."_

 _"I see it as an opportunity to upgrade the act," Grigg shrugged, clearly unconcerned. "Speaking of which…you don't have a job, do you?"_

 _"What makes you say that?" Charles said defensively.  
_

 _"I don't know many gainfully employed chaps who spend all day drinking tea at the market. If that's your job, I'd be interested to know if there are any other positions available." Grigg elbowed him in the ribs and winked.  
_

 _"I used to be a footman, but I'm currently looking for work," Charles admitted, still unsure of why he was sharing any personal information with this man. Perhaps it was because he hadn't spoken much to anyone since his arrival in London. A brief interview with his landlady had been the longest conversation he'd had in weeks._

 _"A footman? Did you work in one of those swank Mayfair houses?"_

 _"Only during the Season. The rest of the year, I worked at the main estate in Yorkshire."_

 _"Can you imitate them?"_

 _"Who?"_

 _"Your former employers; His Lordship or His Grace or whatever he was."_

 _"He was an Earl. He is still an Earl, come to that," Charles corrected himself. "He's a good man. I wouldn't feel comfortable mocking him or his family."_

 _"I don't want you to mock them; not exactly. Thing is," Grigg continued. "My act requires two very different characters. If you affected a posh accent, I bet you couldn't find two more different fellows than you and me."_

 _"I'll not argue with you there," Charles said with a crocked smile. Grigg's accent wasn't terribly thick, but no one would ever mistake him for a member of the upper class. Charles, on the other hand, carried himself in a manner that made it hard for many to tell if he was a gentleman or a gentleman's gentleman._

 _"Well?" Grigg pressed.  
_

 _"What?"_

 _"Can you do the accent?"_

 _"I suppose I can sound a bit more polished, if need be," Charles admitted. "What are you proposing?"_

 _"I'm proposing that we form a double act. A bit o' singing, a bit o' dancing." Grigg shuffled a few dance steps._

 _"I can't dance."_

 _"It doesn't matter. You don't have to be any good; you just have to be entertaining. Leave that to me. I'll write up an act for us. Your character can be a bit of an oaf if you like. Then people won't expect much of your dancing," Grigg declared as if it were the most logical solution in the world. "Is there anything you can do?"_

 _"I can juggle," Charles said quickly, trying to defend himself. His hackles had risen at being called an oaf, even if it was to be an act._

 _"Perfect!" Grigg exclaimed. "I can use that! Anything else?"_

 _"Not that I can think of," Charles admitted with a bit of shame.  
_

 _"Can you tell a joke?" Grigg wondered.  
_

 _"I suppose I can," Charles said with a shrug._

 _"I bet you'd be an excellent straight man," Grigg said excitedly._

 _"That depends."_

 _"On what?"_

 _"On whether or not you're funny," Charles stated drolly._

 _Grigg laughed appreciatively at this. An usher walked by, playing the chimes that announced the second half of the play._

 _"Well? Are you in, mate?" Grigg asked. "You won't need to do much. I'll write the jokes and everything. You just need to be a big, lumbering upper class sounding twit."_

 _Charles frowned at this description of his character. Was this man actually suggesting that Charles act a fool on stage? It would be humiliating and disgraceful. 'But i_ t would make Mum _happy,' Charles thought to himself._

 _Wasn't that the whole reason he was in London; to follow in his father's footsteps? Wasn't this exactly the kind of work that ran in the family? He might not be a freak in a side show, but he could still make a spectacle of himself for the amusement of others. Even Charles' Mum would have to admit the similarities._

 _Grigg watched as Charles stood contemplating his decision._

 _"Let's skip the rest of the play," Grigg urged. "It was rubbish anyhow and my feet hurt. I'll buy you a drink and we can discuss rehearsals."_

 _"Alright; I'll do it," Charles nodded seriously._

 _"My, but you're a cheerful one aren't you, Charlie?" Grigg laughed as they exited the theatre._

-00-

"For the next two weeks, I joined him at Covent Garden while he busked; practicing my juggling and learning to dance. Grigg dubbed us the 'Cheerful Charlies' and started writing banter for an act. When he had it almost perfected, he arranged for us to audition at the theatre where he'd previously worked.

"We were a little awkward, but the manager knew Grigg and trusted him to whip me into shape for the stage. We were given one week to rehearse before our first show.

"Say what you will of him, Grigg knew his business. The act was complex and entertaining. The jokes were funny and our characters were well defined. I was meant to be a son of aristocracy that had fallen on hard times. Grigg's character was the conniving toady that leached away whatever money my family sent me."

Elsie didn't comment that these characters sounded suspiciously close to their true personalities.

"At the start of the act, most of the jokes were directed at me. They were largely jokes about my height, my clumsiness or my mythical, privileged past. Some of the jokes were vulgar or quite mean-spirited, but that was by design. Grigg would dance around me between songs and berate me. By the middle of the act, most people felt sorry for me and disliked Grigg; again, by design. The last part of the act was when all the groundwork paid off. I was allowed to start insulting Grigg in return. The crowd loved seeing Grigg take the abuse rather than doling it out. It was a huge hit.

"Grigg was rather a genius in that sense. His humor was based on insults. People eventually start to feel uncomfortable if you just keep insulting each other," Charles explained. "But if you create a dynamic where the crowd sides with one character over the other, where one character is perceived to deserve the insults…people are free to laugh wholeheartedly.

"I was surprised that Grigg let me be the innocent who gets the last laugh. He was very unselfish that way. He didn't care if he had to be a villain if it meant entertaining the audience. In the end, we made peace and were the 'Cheerful Charlies' again. During our last song, I'd juggle and he'd dance.

"I was to be gone from Downton just over eighteen months. In that time the jokes and songs changed, but the basic formula never did," Charles said with a distant smile.

"We'd been on stage less than a month whe-"

"Stop right there, Charles," Elsie interrupted him. "I hate to butt in, but I'm going to need to know more about the act."

"I've told you everything there is to know," Charles insisted, not seeing his wife's playful smile. "I don't remember any of the actual jokes. They didn't really appeal to my sense of humor."

"If you can't tell me about the act, perhaps you could _show_ me," Elsie suggested slyly. "This seems like the kind of story that requires a demonstration."

Charles realized what she was asking. "No."

"Please, Charles," Elsie pleaded, giving his side a ticklish poke. "Won't you be my Cheerful Charlie?"

"Haven't you been listening? I wasn't any good," Charles protested. "Grigg said my soft shoe looked as though someone had electrocuted a bear."

"Well that, I've got to see," Elsie laughed. Charles, however, did not. It was clear to Elsie that Charles was not budging on this front, so she tried a different tack. "Perhaps you could juggle for me? You were good at that, weren't you?"

"I used to be, but it's been years."

"I'm sure it's just like falling off a bicycle," Elsie said encouragingly.

"How's that?" A confused Charles Carson asked.

"Just one of my Da's sayings," Elsie explained. "I'm not sure exactly what it meant, but I wouldn't think one would forget how to fall off a bicycle once you've learned it."

"Why would you want to learn to fall off a bicycle?"

"That isn't the point, Charles," Elsie said testily. "You're just trying to put me off, but I won't be so easily distracted. Please juggle for me. Is this my present or not?"

"It is," Charles sighed. He stood from the bench and walked over to the nearest flower bed. The bed was separated from the main path by a line of larger rocks. "Don't get your hopes up, love, it really has been a very long time."

"I understand," she assured him calmly, trying to cover her giddy excitement.

Charles picked up four rocks that fit comfortably in his hands. He handed one of the rocks to Elsie and stepped back away from her.

"What's this for?" Elsie asked.

"Just wait, love, and I'll let you know," Charles instructed. He stared at the three rocks in his hands for a few moments. He shifted this hands up and down as if already juggling. His lips moved as though he were counting to himself. Finally, he took a deep breath. "Ready?"

"Ready!"

TBC…

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 **AN/ Sorry for the cliffhanger and the long wait between updates. It was the last week of school and yada yada yada Real Life. Thanks for sticking with me.**

 **We'll get to hear all about Charles' performance next chapter! And more of London.  
**

 **There has been a request for including more of Elsie's back story. This really is Charles' story, but I'll see what I can sprinkle in.**


	8. A Stone's Throw Away

**AN/ I apologize for the summertime delays. Damn RealLife! Now for the juggling!**

* * *

Charles began tossing the stones in front of him. The concentration on his face was intense, but Elsie observed that he relaxed with every successful catch and toss. His whole body became less tense and the juggling became fluid as his confidence grew. After less than half a minute, Charles was smiling and risked a glance up at his wife. He'd expected to see amusement on her face, and it was there, but there was something more. He had not expected to see the blatant love and admiration overpowering her amusement.

"Very impressive," Elsie praised as she clapped her hands enthusiastically.

"I guess it _is_ one of those things you don't forget," Charles beamed proudly.

"I suspected as much. Are you ready for this fourth stone?"

"I think so," Charles speculated. He returned his focus to the stones currently flying in front of him in preparation. "When I say- Ouch!"

The fourth stone had just hit him in the middle of the chest and fallen to the ground. He dropped all the stones at once.

"Oh, Charles!" Elsie exclaimed, her hands came to her face in mortification. "I'm so sorry, love. I thought you were ready for it."

"Not quite," he admitted. "I was going to tell you when to toss it to me."

"Are you alright?"

"Of course, love." Charles rubbed at the spot on his chest where the stone had struck him and pouted as though it hurt. Elsie was not fooled by his playacting. "But before we start again, let's be clear on the difference between _tossing_ a rock _to_ someone and _throwing_ a rock _at_ someone."

He stooped to pick up the scattered rocks. "Shall we try that again?" He asked with a playfully patronizing grin.

Elsie held out her hand and accepted the rock Charles handed to her. "I thought jugglers were supposed to have catlike reflexes."

"I do," Charles claimed as he lobbed the first rock into the air. "Unfortunately, my catlike reflexes resemble those of the fat tom that sits in the Dower House windows all day."

"The one to which the Dowager Countess sometimes gives a saucer of cream after tea?" Elsie laughed.

"The same," Charles confirmed. "He's got a pretty good life, if you think about it."

"A good life, but lousy reflexes," Elsie agreed.

Charles' juggling settled into a steady rhythm. "Alright, love; I'm going to count to three. Then I want you to _toss_ the rock to me." He lay a heavy emphasis on the word 'toss'.

"I understand," Elsie replied with a serious nod and a glowing smile.

"One. Two. Three."

Elsie pitched the rock to him underhanded. Charles caught it easily and incorporated the fourth rock into the intricate pattern he wove in the air before him. After only a few catches and tosses Charles' rhythm became disrupted and irregular. He held it together for a few more moments, but the chaos soon overcame him. Two of the stones fell to the ground. Charles caught the last two.

"Tada!" He said and took an ironic bow. "I told you not to expect too much."

"That was perfect, Charles!" Elsie proclaimed. "Now I know what we're giving Mrs. Patmore for her birthday this year."

"We most certainly are not," Charles said emphatically.

Elsie just shrugged. There was no use arguing about it now. They would fight this battle later. They both already knew who would win.

"Any other tricks up your sleeve?" Elsie asked.

Charles thought for a moment. He picked up the two fallen stones and placed one back in its previous spot beside the path. When he stood back up, he had made a decision.

"For this next trick, I shall require some assistance from the audience," he said as if addressing a crowd of people rather than just his wife.

Elsie looked around as if she were surrounded by people and wondering which person he might choose for the act.

"You there," Charles finally said. "The beautiful woman in the front row."

Elsie brought her hand to her mouth as if she were shocked and flattered by her selection.

"Let's have a round of applause for our lovely participant," Charles requested of the nonexistent audience. He put out his hand to pull Elsie up beside him. "And what is your name, Miss?"

"Elsie Hughes," she replied, acting as though the phantom crowd made her shy.

"Well, Miss Hughes, I am going to ask you to stand just here." Charles indicated a spot. Elsie took her place. "Whatever you do, Miss Hughes, you must not move from that spot," he instructed seriously.

She nodded, enjoying this fantasy where she could imagine that they'd met when he was on the stage.

"Now, ladies and gentleman, and I use both those terms quite loosely," he quipped as he moved to stand behind Elsie. "I shall juggle these razor sharp knives around the lovely Miss Hughes."

Without further ado, Charles resumed juggling. This time, however, his arms encircled Elsie and the stones flew very close around her.

"Those are the dullest knives I've ever seen," Elsie teased. She could not keep her voice from betraying her exhilaration. She could hardly have been this thrilled if Charles had been juggling actual knives.

"No comments from the assistant, please," Charles reproached playfully. "This is very dangerous, Miss."

"I can see that."

"I can get real knives if you prefer," Charles offered, whispering as he broke character for a moment.

"No, that's alright," his wife assured him. Despite his instructions not to move, Elsie pivoted on the spot and turned to face him.

"That's not part of the act," Charles informed her with a lopsided grin.

Elsie lay a hand on his chest, feeling his muscles tensing as he continued to juggle. "No one ever moved?"

"Never," Charles declared. "To be fair, I only performed the act a few times. We decided to dispense with the assistant from the audience after there was a minor injury."

"Did you cut someone?" She asked in dismay.

"No. The gentleman friend of the young lady who helped me one night took exception to my standing so close to his lady friend. His honor demanded that he confront me at the back of the theatre after the show."

"What happened?" Elsie wondered breathlessly as she ran her hands up his braces to his broad shoulders.

"I've already told you; a minor injury," Charles said, struggling to maintain his focus on the rocks. "A bloody nose."

"Not yours, I hope." She traced a finger down the bridge of his nose.

"No, not mine," he confirmed.

"Good. I hate to think of someone hurting my man's nose."

" _Your_ man?" Charles raised an eyebrow but continued to juggle. "I do love when you get possessive."

"Sometimes you need to be reminded to whom you belong," Elsie reasoned. Her fingers were resting on his lips and she stood on her tiptoes to whisper against his cheek. Her other hand snaked around his neck.

"I could never forget, love," Charles assured her. Charles' eyelids were growing heavy with contentment as he spoke into her fingertips. "But I do appreciate the reminder. Sometimes I need help remembering that this isn't a dream."

"Oh, but maybe it is," Elsie said enigmatically. Before Charles could respond, Elsie tilted her head just enough to bring their lips into alignment. She coaxed his lips open with her tongue. He suspected her present overtures sprang from her anticipation of Alice Neale joining the story, but he was not about to complain. Charles Carson was now a man who takes such opportunities when they present themselves. If he could reassure Elsie of his undivided love and admiration in the process; all the better.

Elsie heard the three stones hit the ground with a thud one after the other as he let them fall. She felt his hands grip her waist and pull her even closer. Elsie tilted her head back the other direction, briefly bumping his nose teasingly with hers during the adjustment.

Charles' back felt a twinge from leaning down to her so he gently guided her to the bench and pulled her down onto his lap, never once breaking the contact between their lips. Now that her arms were no longer needed to pull herself up towards him, Elsie was free to run her hands across his shoulders or caress his face. For his part, Charles took advantage of the new position to tactilely appreciate his wife's curves.

Elsie let herself get lost in his adoring embrace. She was glad to postpone the arrival of Alice in his story. Reluctantly, Elsie admitted to herself how nervous she was to hear the details of his interactions with the woman who had made Charles gun shy of relationships.

Finally, she knew it was time to let him move on with his story. Alice isn't a main character in his life, Elsie told herself. Alice is just a poor player. It's best to let her strut and fret her hour on the stage and then be heard no more.

The leading lady in Charles' life won't make her entrance for a while yet. At the present pace, they wouldn't reach Elsie's arrival at Downton until the next morning.

"Charles," Elsie whispered.

"Elsie," he growled in return, squeezing her bottom enthusiastically.

"Charles," she persisted. "I want to hear the rest of your story."

"Mmm?" He queried distractedly. "Oh, yes. London. Downton. You. Story over."

Elsie could only just understand his words because his mouth was pressed firmly against her neck.

"I shall require a little more detail," Elsie said with a smile.

"Hated London. Returned to Downton. Love you," Charles clarified.

"Please, Charles," Elsie laughed. She was almost willing to accept this truncated tale, but she knew that they were only delaying the inevitable. If they had to fully discuss his relationship with Alice, now was the time. "Charlie!"

This stopped him midpucker. He leaned back and frowned at her. "You know I don't like when you call me that. It makes me sound like a little boy."

"Then stop acting like one," she countered.

"You started it," Charles pouted, looking every bit the petulant child.

"I know, but we need to finish your story," Elsie soothed him with her voice. "We have to be back at the Abbey tomorrow and I have _plans_ for this evening."

Heartened by her promising hint, Charles resigned himself to continue his tale with a nod.

"So, you hated London?" Elsie prompted.

TBC...

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 **AN/ Only _[Insert Random Number Here]_ Chapters left!**


	9. The Sisters Neale

"So, you hated London?" Elsie prompted. She was still perched comfortably on his lap.

"Yes, it was dirty and noisy," Charles sighed.

"You always say that, but then say it was enjoyable when you return after the season," Elsie reminded him.

"I always lie," Charles shrugged. "The truth is, after a week, I want nothing more than to return to Yorkshire. Why do you think I always return with the large luggage?"

"Why did you never say?"

"It wouldn't do for me to let on how much I miss Downton. It would give away how much I miss you."

"And it would have forced me to admit how much I'd missed you." Elsie kissed his cheek. "Was there nothing at all positive about London?"

"I did enjoy performing," Charles admitted. "It surprised me, but the audience's rapt attention, their admiration and their applause were intoxicating. When I was on stage, I was someone else and _he_ was happy."

There was a twinkle of nostalgia in his eye as he remembered the hot lights of the theatre and the noise of the crowd he could almost make out beyond the glare.

"Was there a lot of applause?" Elsie wondered.

"Yes, there was," Charles smiled wistfully. "We were a bona fide hit. Less than a month after we started performing together, Grigg and I were moved up the bill and our pay increased. Grigg was ecstatic. His previous acts had never been so popular. It felt good to be part of a successful team again.

"We mostly performed at the theatre in London, but some months the theatre was let out to another company and we travelled. Those were the best of times; being outside London. Most of the company complained about playing the provinces, but I felt more at home there.

"I wrote to my mother in France, telling her about my new career. As you might predict, she couldn't have been happier. She wrote a three page letter that went on and on about how my father's legacy lived on through me. I wanted to believe her, but it still felt wrong.

"I wrote to Lord Grantham to let him know that I'd landed on my feet and wouldn't need him to save me a place at Downton. I thanked him for all his support and shut that door behind me. Or so I thought."

"Did you tell him what you were doing?"

"Of course not," Charles said with a look of near horror. "Even if I didn't need to go back to Downton, I didn't want him to think less of me. It was bad enough that I thought less of myself."

Elsie lay her head on his shoulder. How confusing it must have been for him to experience such professional acclaim in a profession he disdained.

"The longer I spent in London, the more I convinced myself that I liked it, but I still kept to myself. Grigg was the outgoing one; the Charlie everyone remembered. That suited me.

"Eventually, The Season arrived and the company suspended the trips out of London. There were still opportunities to let the theatre for a few nights at a time, so I had some freedom to attend plays or the odd opera. That went a long way towards cheering me up, but there were reminders of my past life everywhere.

"I'd known London in the Season. I knew the telltales signs that a house was preparing for a ball and I saw those signs daily. I read the announcements in the paper and recognized names of people who'd been guests at Grantham House. Though I was sorely tempted, I didn't let myself walk through Mayfair just to catch a glimpse of Grantham House.

"I stayed away from the family until I saw the announcement for Lady Rosamund's presentation and ball. I knew it was coming, of course. Lady Rosamund had talked of little else since last Season. Still, I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. Little Rosamund, whom I'd known since her infancy, was becoming a woman.

"I knew all the extra work it would mean for the staff. I knew Lady Violet and Lady Rosamund would have made life nearly unbearable for everyone in the house for the last week at least. I felt as though I'd abandoned the staff and the family. I was determined to see them.

"It was raining on the day of presentation. Not a heavy rain, but more than a mist. It was enough to ensure that every umbrella in London was deployed. It made for difficult viewing from the crowd gathered to watch the procession of carriages up The Mall. Of course, I didn't have too much trouble. I was tall and I could recognize the Grantham carriage from quite a distance. Many of the carriages were closed up against the weather, but Lady Rosamund would never allow that; she wanted to be seen.

"I saw all of them; Lady Rosamund, Lady Violet, His Lordship. I started to wave and call out to them, but then I stopped. I can hardly explain what I felt. It was strange, but they didn't look how I remembered them. It wasn't that their appearances had changed; I'd have recognized Lady Violet's profile anywhere. It was that they looked so proud and haughty. They were cold and distant. This wasn't the family I remembered. This wasn't _my_ family," Charles frowned. "They were clearly too far above me. I felt like a fool for ever letting myself think that I'd meant anything to the likes of them. I'm not sure I've ever felt so alone in all my life. I'd been deluding myself for so long. I wanted nothing more than to go back to my room and lie down for a week.

"Unfortunately, I still had a performance to deliver, but the stage wasn't the happy escape it had been. There was more bitter mockery in my posh mimicry that night than usual and it was very well received. After the show, one of the theatre patrons hosted their annual ball for the company. I didn't want to go, but Grigg insisted that I must. According to him, even though we were popular, we couldn't afford to offend a patron.

"It was a lavish affair, in a grand house. I'd waited at such events dozens of times, but I didn't know how to behave as a guest. I found myself gravitating towards the outer walls, almost as if I were still waiting. Several times I could see that I made the footmen nervous because I was standing in their assigned place. I thought it best to hide in the crowd, so I stood in the ballroom and watched the dancing.

"I know it's no excuse for what happened next, but I felt like I was adrift. I didn't want the life I had, but I no longer wanted the life that I'd left behind. I had no idea what I wanted anymore."

-00-

 _"Charlie Carson?" A lyrical Irish voice startled Charles from his melancholy thoughts as he watched the dancers glide across the ballroom floor._

 _"Charles Carson," he corrected her gently. He faced her and bowed curtly. Charles took the opportunity to observe her quickly. She was pretty in a severe, Irish way. Her eyes were dark hazel, almost completely brown. "Miss Neale, I believe?"_

 _"One of the Misses Neales," she answered cheekily. "You may call me Kathleen. My sister Alice is over there. She's the only person here enjoying tonight even less than yourself."_

 _Charles followed her gaze across the room. The other Neale sister was clearly disinterested in the spectacle before her. She was also clearly the handsomer of the two sisters. "She does look quite bored," Charles agreed._

 _"Charlie Grigg tells me you can fix that."_

 _"Indeed? How so?"_

 _"They do say that misery loves company," Kathleen quipped._

 _"I don't think that is what they mean," Charles observed, but Kathleen ignored him. She took his hand and began to lead him across to her sister. As they approached, Charles found himself wondering how lovely Miss Alice Neale would look if she actually smiled._

 _Her hair was a rich, dark brown. Her bearing was straight and graceful. Though her body was perfectly still, her eyes observed the activities around her with a lively intelligence. There was an air of judgment about her, as if she disapproved of everything she saw. Charles wondered what she would see when she turned to look at him. Would she disapprove of him?  
_

 _"Alice, love," Kathleen called to her sister. "There's someone I'd like you to meet. This is Charlie…I'm sorry, Charles Carson."_

 _At this close distance, Charles compared the sisters side by side. Where Kathleen was pretty, Alice was striking, almost regal. Kathleen's dress was more ostentatious than Alice's simple attire, but the extra ribbons and lace could not compensate for the disparity in their beauty._

 _"I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Carson," Alice curtsied demurely. Her tone was sincere, but Charles knew better. She was just playing a role. She was no more pleased to meet him than she was to be at the ball in the first place._

 _"I think we would both agree that the pleasure is entirely mine, Miss Neale," Charles replied. He did not wish to be rude, but he could not play the game of pretense as well as she. "And may I say that this is the first pleasure I've had this evening."_

 _Alice raised an eyebrow at Charles' honesty. Kathleen looked uncomfortable and confused. She was apprehensive how Alice would respond to this disarmingly sincere man. Kathleen caught the eye of an acquaintance conveniently located on the far side of the ballroom._

 _"Oh, please do excuse me," Kathleen said hurriedly and skittered away._

 _Charles and Alice watched Kathleen's retreat in silence. Charles slid to stand just beside Alice. He glanced sideways at her as the revelers continued their dance._

 _"You don't have to speak to me," he assured her. "I'm only here because your sister insisted."_

 _"She can be very persuasive," Alice said forgivingly. "I'm actually grateful you are here. Perhaps now men will stop asking me to dance."_

 _"Shall I glare at anyone who approaches?" Charles offered and glowered comically._

 _"If you wouldn't mind, I'd be most obliged," Alice answered with a hint of a smile in her voice._

 _"Perhaps your sister was correct," Charles mused. "Perhaps misery does love company."_

 _"I don't think that's what that phrase means," Alice rejoined in her clipped Irish accent._

 _"That's what I said," Charles chuckled. "But I'm willing to admit that I may have been wrong."_

 _Alice did not answer immediately, but she did turn to him as if seeing him for the first time. She looked him up and down before flashing him an approving smile and offering him her hand. "I may have been wrong too. It really is a pleasure to meet you, Charles."_

 _He bowed over her hand and kissed it. "The pleasure is still primarily mine, Alice."_

TBC…

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 **AN/ I think I'm misspelling Neale/Neal, but I much prefer the Neale spelling and it feels more Irish to me that way, so I'm sticking to it. I want the sisters to be Irish for two reasons…1) We know Charles is a sucker for a Gaelic accent. 2) Maybe we'll see why his dislike for O'Brien runs so deep (to the point of being unprofessional, I think). It might even explain some of his reaction to Sybil running off with Branson.**

 **BTW, Neale means 'champion' and Alice means 'of nobility' if that means anything to anyone. Of course Charles would fall for a champion of nobility** **:)  
**


	10. Alice? Who the F is Alice?

_At Charles' suggestion that they seek out refreshment, he and Alice left the ballroom for one of the quieter areas of the house. Now, they each held their punch in their lap as they sat and talked._

 _"Your act is quite good," Alice said conversationally. "Quite funny, if not exactly to my taste."_

 _"Grigg wrote most of it; certainly all the best parts," Charles confessed. "Though I'll admit the humor is not to my taste either."_

 _"No?" Alice was surprised by this revelation._

 _"I find it to be on the vulgar side."_

 _"Is your friend Grigg a vulgar man?" Alice wondered. "You don't seem to like his company offstage."_

 _"He isn't as vulgar offstage, but he is rather boisterous. Mostly, I think he mistakes being loud for being interesting."_

 _"A lot of people make that mistake," Alice commiserated. "But you prefer quiet reflection?"_

 _"They both have their merits, but yes, I do prefer the quiet to the noise."_

 _"Did you write any of the jokes?"_

 _"I've tried to add a few gags, but they always fall flat. You can tell that it was one of my jokes if no one laughed."_

 _"Like the joke about Plato and Aristotle?" Alice asked. "'It's all Greek to me?'"_

 _"Yes, that was mine," Charles reddened in embarrassment. "There wasn't a single laugh in the house."_

 _"Au contraire, I know there was at least one," Alice said consolingly but with a bit of cheek._

 _Charles was embarrassed at the implied compliment. He took a sip of his punch and struggled to find an adequate response. He'd never felt so tongue-tied with a woman before._

 _"Now is when you say how much you like my act," Alice suggested helpfully, with a flirtatious grin._

 _Charles' head dipped in shame. "I'm afraid that I haven't seen it."_

 _"Oh," Alice frowned. She seemed to deflate before his eyes._

 _"I'm sorry," Charles panicked to think that he'd disappointed her. "I don't make a point to watch the other acts. I mainly see the end of the act immediately before us and the beginning of the act that follows us. I eventually see them all, but you haven't been with us for very long, so I've not had much opportunity."_

 _"We've been with the company for over two months."_

 _"Have you? Two months?" Charles felt rude for not having spoken to her sooner. "I didn't realize…"_

 _"Even if you haven't seen us, you could have lied," Alice chastised him with a pout._

 _"What would be the point of that?"_

 _"It's only polite," Alice informed him._

 _"Polite? I'm not sure I can agree with you. You would have found me out, surely," Charles reasoned. "I'm not a very good liar."_

 _"Then you're in the wrong profession," Alice teased, her disappointment disappearing as quickly as it had arrived._

 _"I know," Charles smiled sadly._

 _"I was only joking," Alice said with a concerned look on her face._

 _"But it's true. I don't belong here."_

 _"Where is it that you do belong?"_

 _"I can't begin to guess," Charles admitted with a dismissive laugh. "One thing is for certain; I won't solve it tonight. I'm sorry. I shouldn't bother you with my problems."_

 _"I don't mind," Alice said graciously. "Hearing about other people's problems puts my own problems in perspective."_

 _"And what problems can a lovely young woman like yourself have?"_

 _"For one, there is a charming young man, whom I like, who has not seen my act and I would very much like to know his opinion."_

 _Charles blushed when she described him as charming and blushed even more deeply when she said that she liked him. "I promise that I shall make an effort to see your act tomorrow evening. Then I can let you know what I think."_

 _"Oh, don't tell me you're going to watch tomorrow," Alice declared with mock dismay._

 _"Why ever not?"_

 _"I shall be nervous; knowing that you're watching me," Alice flirted with her eyes and her smile. "I'll be worried that you won't like what you see."_

 _"I don't think you have anything to worry about," Charles confessed._

-00-

Elsie squirmed but it wasn't her position on Charles' lap that she found suddenly uncomfortable. The movement broke Charles' concentration from his story and his attention turned to his wife.

"Are you alright, love?" He asked with concern. "Are you cold? Shall we go inside?" The sun had dipped low enough that the garden was completely in shadow.

"No, I'm not cold yet," Elsie assured him and it was the truth. How could she ever be cold with his arms so securely around her?

"Do you have any questions about London so far?" Charles offered. She'd been remarkably quiet since he had resumed his tale. He was grateful for her patience, but worried that she was holding her tongue. He knew if Elsie held back now, they might both pay for it in the future.

"No, none yet," Elsie lied. "Go on."

"I did catch her act the next day. It was your basic sister act; Kathleen sung and Alice danced and looked pretty. I told her that she was a good dancer, but I admitted that I was hardly an authority. She scolded me for being too honest again.

"After that, I made a point to see Alice whenever I could," Charles resumed his story. "We were friends, I think, but you couldn't say we were walking out. It was nice to have a friend. I'd only ever had colleagues or schoolmates. I'd never had anyone I would characterize as a friend.

"Instead of going home and reading in my room after shows, I would go out to late dinner with Alice and her sister. Kathleen was always around, and soon Grigg insisted on hanging about. Alice and I were never alone. There was never any chance to speak about personal subjects. I spent my time dreaming about who I thought Alice was rather than getting to know who she really was.

"Alice provided a sort of touchstone in my life; a quiet center that I came to rely upon. Alice told me what I wanted to hear and reinforced my self-delusions. When I told her about my life at Downton, she told me the Crawleys didn't deserve my loyalty. I believed her because I wanted to.

"She convinced me that I was meant for better things than a life in service. In that respect, Alice was very like my mother, but Alice was more persuasive. Instead of resisting it, I began to embrace the idea that the theatre was my future.

"With the act doing well and Alice's attention feeding my ego, I'm afraid that I grew obnoxious and arrogant over the course of the Season. I bought a ridiculous green hat and I wore patterned ties. If I met my twenty-five year old self today, I would box his ears."

"But they are such nice ears," Elsie objected, lightening the mood before Charles could slip into melancholy recollections. "I do have a question now."

"Ask whatever you'd like," Charles offered.

He wanted to be completely open with Elsie, but he didn't expect it when she asked, "Was there really no one before Alice? I mean, you were twenty-five. That's rather late in life to have your first friendship, let alone courtship."

"No, I had never had friends and I never courted anyone else," Charles confirmed. "Before Alice…well, the women I knew weren't very interesting. They weren't even women. The maids at Downton were just girls and I was just a lad when I knew them."

"And none of the village girls pursued you?"

"A few would flirt with me at the cricket match each year, but they all gave up eventually," Charles shrugged. He didn't think it would be a good idea to tell Elsie that one of the most aggressive of the village girls was Helen Morris who became Mrs. Wigan.

"But you weren't interested in any of them or the maids?"

"I was a lad and I wasn't blind," Charles conceded. "I could appreciate a pretty face and a fine figure, but the illusion never lasted long once I spoke to them. All they wanted to talk about was who was wearing what or who was walking out with whom. There was never any real discussion. Any relationship would have been doomed from the start. I knew that I had high, unreasonable expectations of feminine perfection."

"But no one met that ideal?" Elsie observed. "Until Alice, that is." Elsie hated to admit it, but Alice didn't sound terrible. In fact, she sounded like someone who had helped Charles during a difficult time in his life. Elsie envied that, but it was a dull ache soothed by the natural way Charles ran his thumb over the back of her hand; the hand that bore her wedding band.

"Alice wasn't my ideal woman," Charles clarified. "I knew that from the start, but no one had even come close before her. I thought maybe she could become the woman I had dreamed about. I wanted so badly for her to be the woman I'd conjured in my imagination that I attributed characteristics to her that she never had."

"What do you mean?"

"She was witty and beautiful, but I told myself she was more than that. I forced myself to ignore her vanity and convinced myself that she was more generous and selfless than she really was. I had to believe there were hidden depths behind those placid brown eyes." Charles furrowed his brow as he fought to make Elsie understand. "I wanted her to be like the heroines from my books; the ones with whom I'd fallen in love as a lad. Most heroines were beautiful, smart and strong but the ones I loved most were also modest, kind and compassionate."

"The ones you loved? And who might they be?" Elsie noted with a curious smile. She found herself much less intimidated by fictitious competition than by Alice's ghost.

"My first crush was Amy Dorrit."

"From 'Little Dorrit?'" Elsie couldn't help laughing. She wasn't sure what she'd expected as young Charles Carson's dream woman, but Dickens' child of the Marshalsea was not it.

"Everyone around her was so self-centered and selfish, but she looked after them with a quiet dignity. They took her for granted, but she was never bitter about it. Which sounds very like someone I know," Charles added and gave Elsie a loving squeeze around the waist.

"Any even turned away from a large inheritance to spare the feelings of the man she loved. When I read that book for the first time, I wanted to believe that people like Amy truly existed in the world."

"So you were in love with her?"

"Until I read 'Bleak House'," Charles nodded. "Then, I fell in love with Esther Summerson. Esther was everything Amy Dorrit was and more. She was selfless and kind, but she also had a fire in her. She had a sense of justice, keen powers of observation and she could put people like Skimpole in their place with few well-placed words."

"Do you know that Esther is Dickens' only female narrator?" Charles said professorially.

"No, I didn't know that," Elsie admitted with a fond smile. She remembered reading 'Bleak House' as a young maid and admiring the character. Even back then, Elsie flattered herself that she shared many characteristics with Miss Summerson.

"I read 'Bleak House' a long time ago, but I do remember Esther. If I recall correctly, didn't Mr. Jarndyce give her the keys to Bleak House?"

"Yes, he did," Charles smirked.

"So, in a way, you could say she was the housekeeper," Elsie pointed out. "And you were in love with her."

"Mhmm," Charles hummed with a smug smile. "I was very wise as a lad, wasn't I? It's really too bad I was such a foolish young man."

"You don't sound so foolish to me," Elsie soothed. "Just a little lost. What happened with Alice? How did you find your way back to Downton?"

"Things were going well for me through the Season, or so I thought. Grigg and I had moved up the bill yet again. Alice and I seemed to be heading towards and understanding. Then, everything unraveled at the same time."

TBC…

* * *

 **AN/ Read, Review, Repeat;)**

 **Since my 'remaining chapters random number generator' seemed to keep kicking out very high numbers, I've had to abandon it. Now, I think we have *mumble* *mumble* chapters left.**


	11. The First Cut is the Deepest

_Charles sat on the back stoop of the theatre. Most of the performers were inside preparing for the night's show. Half in costume, Charles was reading a letter with a French stamp on the envelope. Alice snuck up behind him and placed her hands over his eyes._

 _"Guess who."_

 _"Please, Alice, not now." Charles frowned and pulled her hands away from his face._

 _"Well, I had a present for you, but if you're going to be like that…" Alice teased coquettishly but Charles ignored her. Frustrated that he did not pay her more attention, she pouted with her hands on her hips. "Charles, I'm talking to you!"_

 _"And I've said, 'not now,'" he responded curtly, but not unkindly. "Can we talk later? Please?" His voice and eyes were dull._

 _"Half the company are leaving London tomorrow and I have a lot of goodbyes to offer. You ought to be flattered that I started with you."_

 _"Normally, I would be," Charles assured her. "But I've just had some news from France and I'm not in the mood."_

 _"Is it bad news?"_

 _Charles looked at her with open disdain. "Do I look as if I've had good news?"_

 _"No," Alice admitted. "What's the news?"_

 _"My mother is ill; gravely so. They write that she won't last more than a few days and this was posted…" Charles turned over the envelope. "Three days ago. In all likelihood, she's already dead." He kicked his heel at the step below him in helpless frustration._

 _"Oh, Charles, I'm so sorry." Alice sat beside him and took his hand. All her playful petulance was gone. "But why didn't they send you a telegram?"_

 _"Because telegrams are expensive and the woman my mother works for is a tightfisted, old bi…hag," Charles growled._

 _"Is there anything I can do?" Alice offered. "I hate to see you so down."_

 _Charles covered Alice's hand with his own and forced a sad smile for her benefit. "It helps that you're here."_

 _"Perhaps a present will cheer you a bit," Alice suggested. "It won't fix anything, but…" She reached into her wrist bag and pulled out a folder made of thick paper. Charles knew immediately what it was._

 _"The photo I asked you for! I didn't think you were going to get it made before I left." He opened the folder and gazed at the likeness. "Lovely. Thank you, Alice. This means a lot to me."_

 _"I couldn't send you out into the provinces without something to remember me by," Alice informed him seriously. "two months is a long time and some of those country girls can be quite pretty. A city boy like you is quite the catch."_

 _"I'm not a city boy," Charles protested with a sad smile. He was glad of the distraction Alice's teasing provided. "And I don't need the photograph to remember you, but I did very much want it."_

 _"Then who was I to deny you what you wanted?"_

 _"Alice…" Charles started then stopped. "I know this isn't very good timing, but…there is something else that I want."_

 _"From me?" Alice asked warily._

 _"Most definitely from you," Charles confirmed in a voice broken with emotion. "I've been thinking…"_

 _"Oh, dear," Alice tried to joke, but she looked too nervous to sell the joke._

 _"Thinking about us."_

 _"Charles…"_

 _"Do you think… perhaps we could…perform a number together?" Charles suggested. "Just a song or a dance; something for between main acts?"_

 _"What?" Alice asked with obvious surprise. This was not the offer she'd expected. She smiled with relief. "A number together?"_

 _"Well, what do you think?"_

 _"Maybe," Alice agreed. "We can talk about it when you get back."_

 _"Really? You'll think about it?" Charles finally smiled a full smile. "Thank you. I'll try and find a song for us while I'm away."_

-00-

 _"Oy, Charlie boy!" Grigg's voice carried across the train station; above the hullaballoo of all the acts boarding the train car assigned to the company. "We have to go. The luggage is all sorted, now it's our turn."_

 _"It's got to come any second. I wired them yesterday. They've had plenty of time to respond." Charles gave the telegraph operator a pleading look. The man just shook his head. Charles had been waiting for a reply from France all morning._

 _"Have it forwarded on to Cardiff, man, the train's about to leave," Grigg insisted. Charles had to follow. Charles gave the clerk a piece of paper with the name of their Cardiff hotel and allowed Grigg to drag him to the train just as the porter was calling all aboard._

 _They found a pair of seats in the performer's section of the car and settled in as the train pulled away from the platform._

 _"Stop worrying, Charlie boy, there's nothing you can do. Whether you get your reply today or tomorrow, it won't change what's happened." Grigg offered what he no doubt considered consolation. Charles glared at him._

 _"It were nice of Alice to come down and see us off," Grigg said, hoping to change the subject. The subject of Alice Neale usually cheered Charles up. The ride to Wales was long enough without having to deal with a morose traveling companion._

 _"Did she?" Charles asked. "I didn't see her."_

 _"She said I was to look out after you."_

 _"If you're taking requests, I'd rather you left me alone," Charles grumbled._

 _"I'm sorry about your mum, Charlie boy, I really am," Grigg said in his usual tone of casual insincerity. "But you have to look at it from another perspective. I didn't even know my mum, so you're one of the lucky ones."_

 _Charles was starting to think that Grigg's mum had been one of the lucky ones. "But if she's dead…"_

 _"If she'd dead, a telegraph ain't going to change it."_

 _"They need to know what to do with the body. I need to have her sent to York. I'll need to meet her there." Charles was running through all the logistics in his mind. He wasn't even aware he was speaking out loud any more. "I need to know if she got my wire. Did she know how much I love her?"_

 _"Sometimes it's better not to know, lad," Grigg said philosophically. "Have a drink."_

 _Charles looked with disgust at the flask Grigg had shoved under his nose. "It's not even ten o'clock yet."_

 _"What's your point?" Grigg wondered. "Here; a toast to your mum; wherever she might be." Grigg tossed back a swig and handed the flask to Charles._

 _Charles could hardly refuse to toast his mother, so he accepted the flask, though he was wary of what it might contain. "To mum; maybe she pulled through."_

 _Charles choked down the liquid, which tasted how rubbing alcohol smelled. "Thank you," Charles croaked through a burning throat. "I think I'll go to the diner car for some tea."_

 _"Suit yourself," Grigg shrugged and took another slug of the potentially blinding substance. He seemed relieved that Charles was leaving._

 _By the time Charles returned from a fruitless walk through several adjacent cars, Grigg was fast asleep, drooling against the window and smelling of alcohol._

-00-

 _"Charles Carson?" The hotel clerk asked as he read the register Charles had just signed._

 _"Yes, that's me."_

 _"A wire arrived for you around noon."_

 _"Thank you," Charles said and held out his hand._

 _"Charges were reversed. They said you'd agreed to that," the clerk said, withholding the flimsy yellow paper with the teletype pasted to it._

 _"Yes, yes, I did." Charles shoved a few coins across to the clerk who took what was owing and shoved the remainder back to Charles. He grabbed the change and the wire and hurried to an empty corner of the lobby. He skimmed the addresses and jumped straight to the message._

MAEYRN CARSON DEAD SEPT 14 STOP BURIED SEPT 16 VALBONNE STOP SALARY OWING USED FOR EXPENSES STOP LETTER TO FOLLOW WITH MORE DETAILS STOP CONDOLENCES=

LADY POWIS=

 _"Well?" Grigg asked, looking over Charles' shoulder._

 _"They've already buried her," Charles whispered in awful wonder._

 _"Where?"_

 _"In France, I think," Charles assumed Valbonne was in France, it certainly wasn't in Yorkshire._

 _"Without asking you?" Even Grigg sounded disgusted by this insensitive behavior._

 _"I'm to expect a letter with more details," Charles mumbled without emotion. He took his valise and plodded to his room. Grigg followed at a respectful distance, unsure of what to do._

 _Once in the room, Charles unpacked his few belongings into the top two drawers of the room's dresser. When he was done, he sat heavily on the bed nearest the window and stared blankly at the wall._

 _It was over. He was alone, completely this time. Until this moment, there had always been the chance that she'd come back to England. Maybe he would look after her in her old age, maybe they would be a family._

 _Charles had felt isolated most of his life, but it was nothing compared to the emptiness that enveloped him now. The odd thing was, he felt at home in the emptiness, as if finally stripping away the last illusion of family and connections had freed him. His life until now had been defined by other people's expectations. Maybe now was the time for a fresh start._

 _Charles gave a large sigh, drawing his attention to the item he kept in his breast pocket. Still in a daze, he removed Alice's picture from his coat. 'Time for a fresh start,' he thought again as the photo seemed to smile at him. The family God had given him was gone. Maybe it was time to start his own family._

-00-

Elsie wiped a tear from Charles' cheek before it could run to his chin. Charles smiled sadly at her. He hadn't been aware that he was crying.

"It was almost forty years ago. Why does it still hurt?" He asked like a confused child worrying over a splinter that has worked it's way beneath the skin.

"I've said it before, but it bears repeating; 'You've only got one mother,'" Elsie said gently. "And because my man has a sensitive soul."

Charles sniffed back the unshed tears. The pain he felt was fresh, sharp and unexpected. He'd feared that he might become emotional when speaking of Alice, but he had not expected to feel this vulnerable speaking about losing his mother. Everyone loses their mother.

"Did you ever get to go to Valbonne?" Elsie brushed at the hair which fell over his forehead.

Charles shook his head in shamed confusion. It had never occurred to him that he should visit Valbonne. His mother was dead, what was the point? Or so he'd told himself at the time. Now, he felt like an ungrateful son for failing to pay his respects.

Elsie watched the emotions playing out on his face. Though she still did not know the details of Alice's betrayal, things were coming into focus. Elsie already understood her husband better. Elsie perceived that Charles' pain from his mother's death was deeper than anything Alice had ever inflicted. Alice was the name he'd attached to the pain, but he'd combined the injuries from Alice and Maeyrn into one terrible event in his life.

The wound from Alice had come so close on the heels of the deeper injury that it had been impossible for Charles to separate the two until now. Alice should have helped him through his pain, but she'd only added to it. Elsie had nursed him as he healed from Alice. She was honored to be the one to help him now.

"Let's go inside, love," Elsie suggested gently.

"Are you cold?" Charles asked again, determined to be an attentive husband, even if he'd been a negligent son.

"No, but I have some idea of what comes next in your story," Elsie said quietly. "I think it might best be faced beside a warm fire and wrapped in a blanket."

Charles nodded in grateful silence.

"You start the fire, Charles, and I'll make us a strong pot of tea," Elsie instructed as she rose from his lap. "And did I see a bottle of port in the kitchen?" She tried to draw him up from the bench by both hands, but Charles resisted and pulled her back to him.

"I don't deserve you," Charles said quietly. His arms wrapped around her middle. Her chin rested on his head. She held his head to her breast, letting healing love flow into him; the love she had as a wife and the surrogate love of a mother.

"I know," she whispered in response. "That makes us even."

TBC…

* * *

 **AN/ I'm sorry to be so cruel to Charles, but I have to believe that he was SERIOUSLY messed up by what happened with Alice, so I'm making it as complex and painful as I can. Otherwise, there is no excuse for him to have denied his feelings for Elsie for so long. IMO. Do you agree? Disagree? Let me know!**

 **ETA/ to the reviewer who wanted to know how to pronounce Maeyrn (your PM was disabled- I hope you get this). I've never known anyone with that name, but I found it on a list and liked it because it struck me as an archaic version of Mary. In my head, I hear that name the same as the 'Marine', but maybe softer. I hope that helps.**


	12. Prelude to Heartache

As Elsie had suggested, while she prepared a hearty tea Charles had built a fire which soon warmed the small room that was to be the library. On a whim, she made a few sandwiches and cut them into small triangles. When she had brought the tray into the library, she found that Charles had made a little nest of pillows and blankets just within the fires halo of warmth.

The little break of domesticity had calmed Charles considerably and he was smiling as he helped Elsie settle into the blankets beside him. The tea tray sat on the floor beside her.

"Do you remember our first picnic in our house?" He asked fondly.

"Of course I do, you old booby," Elsie rolled her eyes at him. "You were so adorably nervous."

"I didn't want our first real kiss to be a disappointment to you," he admitted as she handed him a cup of tea.

"Well, you've improved since then," Elsie teased. When he raised one eyebrow at her she laughed and added. "And at the time I wouldn't have thought that was possible." She kissed his lips lightly, being careful not to spill her own tea.

They cuddled and enjoyed their tea and sandwiches for a while before the fire. Finally, by silent agreement, Charles continued his story.

"The company was on a brief, two month tour of six cities. We spent two weeks in Cardiff and ended with two weeks in Manchester with one week each in four smaller towns on the coast between them.

"Grigg had been worried that my depression might affect the act, but I found it easy to set aside my feelings before taking to the stage. It was a nightly escape to which I looked forward. The performances and Alice's letters sustained me through those months. While we were away, I wrote to Alice almost daily. She wrote nearly as often. By our last week in Manchester, I'd amassed a large parcel of letters. They were bound with a green ribbon of hers that I'd found in a coat pocket before we left London. I always kept them in my top drawer along with her picture.

"Our letters had progressed from friendly condolences to hopeful speculation about the future. I'd sent her a few ideas for songs we could do together and she'd been very receptive, even flirtatious. It sounds silly now, but I was very confident that she understood that when I spoke of our 'act together' I meant our lives together. I was certain that she knew I was planning to propose marriage eventually and I was certain that she was planning to accept me.

"I spent most of my nights rereading her letters and looking at her picture. Grigg spent most of his nights gambling with a few of the other top performers and the manager. The game was exclusive and high stakes. Sometimes they'd let a few rich locals into the game, just for fresh blood.

"Grigg was a very good gambler, or so he told me. Most nights he'd come back to the room with a wad of bills. He'd smile, wave his cash at me and say, 'Easy money, Charlie boy. It's the best kind there is.'

"In Manchester, however, his fortunes changed and mine changed with his."

-00-

 _"Damn and blast!" Grigg stormed into the room. "And don't you start!" He yelled at a silent Charles._

 _Charles folded up the letter he'd been rereading and waited for Grigg to go on. He was unlikely to have any peace until Grigg said his piece._

 _"What's happened, Charlie?"_

 _"I was set up," Grigg grumbled. "Those bloody locals set me up."_

 _"And this surprises you?" Charles asked, trying not to sound too smug._

 _"I don't need to hear you saying 'I told you so,'" Grigg snapped at his partner._

 _"Then tell me how I was wrong," Charles challenged calmly._

 _Grigg just grumbled and dug around in his drawer._

 _"Don't make it worse," Charles cautioned as he saw Grigg pull a ratty black sock from the drawer. Charles knew this was where Grigg stored his money._

 _Grigg spun around and glared at Charles. "I don't need advice from a fellow who never leaves the room. Go back to your letters and mind your own business."_

 _"Stop betting on the fights. Find a poker game," Charles advised._

 _"There's no game here that's worth my time. I can't make any money in low stakes games," Grigg countered with an argument Charles had heard before._

 _"You're not making money at the fights either. You don't know the fighters as well as the locals do. You said it yourself, they've set you up."_

 _"I've figured it out now. There's a fight in half an hour where I can't miss," Grigg said with a manic look in his eye. "I have to get back now."_

 _Charles stood up to block the door. "I'm not letting you go back there," he declared simply._

 _"Get out of my way, Charlie boy," Grigg menaced. He snatched the picture of Alice from Charles' hand and tossed it towards Charles' bed. "Go back to your daydreaming. The rest of us have lives to live."_

 _"For someone who doesn't like hearing me say 'I told you so', you seem dead set to give me ample opportunity," Charles scowled down at Grigg who did not blink. "Suit yourself." Charles stepped away from the door. Grigg pushed through with a grunt and slammed the room door behind him._

-00-

 _In the pub opposite the theatre Charles picked at his simple lunch of bread and cheese. He was putting the finishing touches on a letter to Alice. He'd be home in less than a week and it was time to consider how things would be upon his return. When had he started considering London as home, he wondered._

 _"There he is," came a derisive drawl. "Mr. I Told You So."_

 _"Afternoon, Charlie. Do you want some lunch? If you haven't any money, I'm buying," Charles offered sarcastically. He had very little patience for Grigg's gambling._

 _"Go to hell," Grigg spat in response. He slumped down onto the bench beside Charles. He noticed that Charles was writing a letter. "You can tell Alice how I've lost all my money. The two of you ought to get a good laugh out of that."_

 _"You flatter yourself, Charlie. We have better things to discuss than your inevitable self-destruction," Charles snapped back. He immediately regretted his words and tone. Grigg was down. It was unkind to jibe at him. "I'm sorry. Let me buy you a drink, mate." Charles motioned to the barkeep._

 _Grigg didn't even attempt to protest. When his ale arrived, he grunted a reluctant thanks and drank deeply. "Is that your proposal?"_

 _"One does not propose to a woman in a letter," Charles proclaimed with a small blush. "Besides, we're still getting to know each other. I want to take things slowly."_

 _"If you moved any more slowly, mate, you'd be going backwards," Grigg sneered._

 _"She's agreed to rehearse a number with me."_

 _"Hmph," Grigg responded to this information._

 _Charles was taken aback by the level of Grigg's bitterness. "You're not jealous are you, Charlie?"_

 _"Jealous," Grigg asked, flustered. "Why…why would I be jealous?"_

 _"You don't want me performing with anyone else," Charles declared. "Look, there's nothing to be jealous of. It's just one song and who knows if we'll be good enough to ever perform it. I'm not planning to abandon you. I know I'd be nothing without you. You write all the material and I appreciate that. I just thought it would give Alice and I some time together. I want to know her better before I propose."_

 _"Yeah, alright," Grigg conceded. "Maybe I was a little jealous. You've spent enough time with her, don't you think you know her?"_

 _"You never really know someone until you've worked with them; relied on them," Charles argued. "We talk and write, but I feel like she's holding something back."_

 _Grigg just took another slug of ale and remained silent as Charles completed his letter._

 _"I'll give you one piece of advice," Grigg offered when he saw that Charles was almost done._

 _"What's that?"_

 _"When you see her again, don't go on and on about your mother being buried with a bunch of damnable Catholics."_

 _"Why not?"_

 _"Because Alice is Catholic."_

 _"She is? How do you know?" Charles looked at Grigg in astonishment. It was rare that Charlie knew something that Charles did not._

 _"She mentioned something about confession once," Grigg said casually. "Or maybe it was Kathleen."_

 _"I thought they were Protestant," Charles admitted. "But it never came up since I've not gone to church since I started performing." Saturday nights were too late to consider getting up for Sunday mornings. Also, Charles was ashamed of what he did for a living and didn't feel he could belong to any of the London churches._

 _"I'm pretty sure," Grigg answered before Charles could ask._

 _"Thank you, Charlie, I owe you one." Charles signed his letter and folded it up quickly. "I've got to catch the evening post, but I do want to know what happened last night. I hope it's not too bad."_

 _"It ain't good." Grigg frowned as Charles dropped a few coins on the table and left the pub on his mission. Grigg smiled sadly to himself when he saw that Charles had dropped an extra shilling._

 _TBC…_

* * *

 **AN/ P** **oor Charles, he doesn't have a clue, does he?** **The shite hits the fan next chapter…but before that, I'll be posting a little one off, milestone celebration...keep an eye out for it soon.**


	13. Two Faced

Still safely ensconced in Elsie's arms, Charles tried to remember the exact order of things. Where had the end begun? With the poker game, or rather after the poker game.

"Obviously, Grigg had not been successful with his wager on the fight. He'd lost almost everything. Oddly, by our show that evening he was in better, if not good, spirits. He said he had a plan and that he would not be returning to London poorer than when he'd left. We only had a few days left in Manchester so I doubted him, but I didn't say so.

"Apparently, his plan involved reviving the poker game. The night before we were to leave Manchester he finally gathered enough well-heeled locals for a high stakes game. I wasn't sure where he'd found the money to buy into the game, but I thought it best not to ask. They played all night, or so I assume. Grigg stumbled into the room just after five in the morning."

-00-

 _"What a night, Charlie boy!" Grigg slurred as he bumped into the end of his own bed. "I fleeced those high class prigs like a flock of innocent lambs." He laughed drunkenly to himself._

 _"Congratulations," Charles mumbled and turned over so his back was to Grigg._

 _"Lady Luck sure did smile on me tonight," Grigg sighed happily. Charles heard the springs creak as Grigg sat heavily on the other bed. He heard Grigg's grunts of frustration as he tried to untie his shoes and finally just kicked them off onto the floor. A blissful sigh came from Grigg as he lay back on the noisy bed._

 _"Lady Luck, hmm?" Charles asked knowingly. "And what's her name in Manchester?"_

 _"Mmm…Lilly? Lucille? Lotty?" Grigg tried to remember. "Libby! That's it. Ah, sweet Libby…" Grigg's voice trailed off into happy memories._

 _Charles rolled his eyes and reached for his pocket watch on the low table beside his bed. He blinked a blurry eye at the time. "The train leaves in three hours, Charlie. Be ready. I'm not packing for you again."_

 _"Hmm," came the sleepy reply._

 _"If you fall asleep now, you'll never get up for the train," Charles warned groggily._

 _"Thank you, mum," Grigg growled back. "And what exactly do you propose I do for the next three hours if I'm not to sleep?"_

 _"You could pack your things so you don't have to do it at the last second," Charles suggested._

 _"I don't have any problem packing at the last second," Grigg answered. "I don't have to organize my case in alphabetic order like some people."_

 _"It's organized by size," Charles said defensively. "And I like to be neat. Forgive me if I don't choose to have the inside of my luggage appear as though I live out of it like a vagabond."_

 _"No one would ever accuse you of being untidy, Charlie boy. I've never known anyone else who starches his socks," Grigg clowned._

 _Charles just shook his head and tried to ignore Grigg's drunken cackles. Soon, the soft laughter faded into gentle snoring. Charles drifted back to sleep knowing in two hours he'd be dragging a reluctant Grigg to the station._

 _Two hours later, as predicted, Charles had packed Grigg's bag. Every few minutes, Charles would give Grigg's bed a nudge with his knee. He hoped in this fashion he would wake Grigg enough so he could walk himself to the station. Thankfully, Grigg had slept in his clothes from the night before, so all Charles needed to do was shove Grigg's shoes on his feet, throw a jacket on him, and shove him out the door._

 _Grigg finally began to squirm and grumble. "Stop bugging me, Charlie boy. If you don't stop, I won't cut you in on the scheme I came up with last night."_

 _"You know I have no interest in your confidence games," Charles said, messily emptying a drawer into Grigg's bag._

 _"You'll be interested in this one. There's lots of money to be made. I got the idea from one of the rubes last night. He was complaining because he'd lost five thousand pounds when an investment went belly up."_

 _"And what of it?" Charles wondered. "That happens all the time, Charlie."_

 _"Exactly! And them rich toffs don't bat an eye. If I were to set up one of them speculations, I could rake in the money," Grigg said dreamily._

 _"But what's the investment?"_

 _"Wise up, Charlie boy, it doesn't matter what I tell the marks, it won't be real," Grigg explained pedantically. "It could be a ship to the West Indies or a tea plantation in India. I just have to string a few investors along for a while and then tell them there was a fire or monsoon or something and the investment is a total loss. I take the money; they shrug and move on, like the guy tonight. No one gets hurt."_

 _Charles turned to face towards Grigg's side of the room. "Charlie, you are aware that what you just described is called fraud, aren't you? And it's illegal."_

 _"It's only illegal if you get caught," Grigg shrugged._

 _"Right, silly me," Charles grumbled._

 _"Do you want in then?"_

 _"I'll pass. Call me old-fashioned, but I don't think it's right to steal from people."_

 _"Even if they're so rich they won't miss it?" Grigg argued. "Don't you think the rich should share with us less fortunate?"_

 _"Of course, but it should be done willingly and knowingly. That's why there are taxes and charities."_

 _"Don't I deserve charity as much as the next person?" Grigg pouted with comic pathos._

 _"No," Charles answered with a laugh. He never knew if Grigg was serious when he spoke of his schemes. "But you may deserve jail as much as the next person."_

 _Charles gave the bed another great shove and Grigg sat up in defeat. He was awake now, if not completely so._

 _"Charlie, put on your shoes while I go downstairs and see if I can find us some coffee," Charles directed. He knocked Grigg's socked foot with his fist as he walked by. "You'd better still be up when I get back."_

 _Charles returned shortly with two steaming cups of coffee for which he'd had to bribe the inn's scullery maid since the kitchens were not yet officially open. Grigg had one shoe on and was trying unsuccessfully to tie it._

 _Exasperated at the display of incompetence before him, Charles shoved a mug of coffee into Grigg's hands and knelt down. He set his own coffee on the floor and grabbed Grigg's foot._

 _"It helps to put the shoe on the proper foot, Charlie."_

 _"When you're right, Charlie boy, you're right," Grigg agreed affably and drank a slurp of coffee._

 _Charles made quick work of Grigg's shoes. Though he'd not often been called upon to valet while at Downton, Charles still remembered what he'd learned from those few occasions._

 _With Grigg finally squared away, Charles picked up his coffee and stood up. "I'll be glad to be back in London," Charles admitted. He glanced at his watch. "Right, time to go."_

 _Grigg made a minor production of getting to his feet and pulling on his jacket. Charles applauded him sarcastically once Grigg had managed to button up the jacket, having at first buttoned it incorrectly. Charles handed Grigg his case and pointed him towards the door._

 _"Oh, wait!" Grigg exclaimed. "I nearly forgot!" He rushed back to the bed and pulled something from under the pillow. Charles recognized the item at once. He was sure it was a photograph, though Charles could not see the face._

 _"What's this now? Is that Libby?" Charles teased kindly. "Let's have a look. You've been extolling her virtues for two weeks now."_

 _"It ain't Libby," Grigg dismissed Charles hastily and moved to secure the photograph in his breast pocket._

 _"Then who is it?_ _The girl from Cardiff? From Swansea? Chester?_ _" Charles pressed. "Come on. You know you want to brag. Or is she ugly?"_

 _"Let it go, mate," Grigg frowned. Something about Grigg's demeanor set off alarm bells in Charles' head. He knew he should heed Grigg's warning, but now he could not rest until he'd seen the picture._

 _"Fine," Charles shrugged and moved towards the door. When Grigg was close enough behind him, Charles turned around and deftly snatched the photograph from Grigg's pocket._

 _"Aha!" Charles crowed triumphantly as he turned the picture over. His face switched from triumph to anger in a split second. "Have you been in my things?" He demanded of Grigg who had frozen on the spot._

 _"Charlie! I asked you a question," Charles threatened. "Have you been in my things?"_

 _Grigg shook his head slowly._

 _"Then how is it that you had my picture of my Alice under your pillow?"_

 _"You ain't walking out with her," Grigg grumbled quietly._

 _"As good as!" Charles insisted. "But that doesn't give you an excuse to steal from me."_

 _Grigg was at a complete loss for words. Charles put his own case on the nearest bed and opened it. He pulled out the bundle of letters, ready to untie the ribbon and return Alice's picture to its proper place amongst the missives. He stopped at once when he saw Alice's face already looking up at him from the top of the bundle._

 _Charles untied the bundle and removed Alice's picture. Charles looked from the photo he'd taken from Grigg to this photo. His scrutiny revealed tiny differences between the images. The photo with the letters was clearly the one Charles had stared at long enough to commit to memory. In the other photo Alice's chin was at a subtly different angle and her expression was the smallest bit more severe. The photo Charles had was slightly the better of the two, but both were clearly Alice Neale._

 _"Where did you get this?" Charles asked without turning to face Grigg._

 _To his credit, Grigg did not equivocate. "The same place you got yours; from Alice," Grigg answered. "She gave it to me in the station when we left London."_

 _Charles did turn to face Grigg now. His features were a story of confusion and hurt. "But why would she give you this?"_

 _"I couldn't tell you, mate,"Grigg shrugged. "You're going to have to ask Alice."_

 _"Oh, I shall," Charles said menacingly._ _Alice is innocent, his scowl declared._ _This was all Grigg's fault.  
_

 _Grigg took a step back from the hatred emanating from Charles. "We're gonna miss our train," Grigg said hurriedly before turning tail and dashing out the door._

 _Charles looked down at the two faces again. As Grigg's footsteps receded down the stairs, Charles retied the ribbon on the letters and stuck both photos in his breast pocket. Slowly, like a man unsure of which way to go, Charles followed Grigg down the stairs and to the nearby station._

 _TBC…_

* * *

 **AN/ Charles is still denying reality, but he's closer to the truth...and so are we.  
**


	14. A Betrayal Exposed

"I was such a fool," Charles sighed. "I should have expected what was to happen, but…"

Elsie gently caressed Charles' sad features. Anticipating the next part of the story, she asked, "Did you honestly not suspect anything between Grigg and Alice?"

"It must sound terribly naïve, but no," Charles frowned. "The Alice I thought I knew would never have considered Grigg. I knew the type of man Grigg was, but I thought there was some sort of honor amongst thieves. When it came to Alice, I just deceived myself."

Elsie nodded in understanding. Treachery from Grigg was to be anticipated. It was the unexpected betrayal that had injured him the most. Charles sighed and let her touch fortify him for the next part of his tale.

-00-

 _Charles rode back to London on the car designated for stage hands and other nonperformers. He couldn't trust himself around Grigg at the moment._

 _'There must be a logical explanation for this,' Charles tried to convince himself. 'Alice must have given Grigg the photograph to pass along to me.' But that didn't make sense and he knew it. He didn't need two nearly identical photographs._

 _So what did that mean? And Grigg's unabashed admission that Alice had given him the photograph was troubling. There was no shame in it. It was more like pride; like Grigg was glad to be found out. It was as though Grigg wanted to have this out, but had kept his peace because someone else had forced him to. The only someone that could be was Alice. Was it possible that Alice was the duplicitous one in this scenario? Grigg was a known charlatan, but he appeared to want to be honest with Charles. Alice was the innocent looking lady who was not as she seemed. With every mile that clicked under his feet, the truth loomed closer and closer. London held all the answers to the questions that he feared to ask._

-00-

 _"Charles!" Alice called excitedly. She ran up and hugged him enthusiastically. He did not return the embrace. She noticed immediately how coldly he was looking at her. Alice was confused for a moment, until her eyes darted to Grigg who stood behind Charles looking guilty. Alice's expression let the wind out of Charles' sails. The breeze of hope that had been sustaining him was stilled. She was guilty; of what, he did not want to know but part of him could not bear not to know._

 _"Will you let me explain?" Alice pleaded._

 _"There is nothing to explain," Charles declared bravely. "Goodbye, Alice." He tried to push past her, but she grabbed his arm and held fast._

 _"You will not just dismiss me, Charles Carson!" Alice yelled, eliciting curious stares from people in the station._

 _"Don't make a spectacle of yourself," Charles hissed lowly._

 _"Oh, Heaven forfend that I should make a scene! Am I embarrassing you, Charles?" Alice asked loudly. Charles cringed and looked around. Several people had stopped and were openly gawking at Alice. "Well, I'm sorry, but I will have my say."_

 _"Fine," he accepted with a hushed whisper. "But not here."_

 _"Then where?" Alice demanded with her hands thrust out either side of her and looking around as if inviting him to pick a direction._

 _Casting his eyes desperately around for a refuge, Charles saw a small waiting room. He nodded towards the room and raised an eyebrow. Alice calmed somewhat and acquiesced. When they reached the room, they found it occupied by a woman with two children._

 _"Clear out," Grigg barked at the small family. Charles hadn't realized Grigg was following them until he heard the gruff voice._

 _"Please, we'd like some privacy," Charles said apologetically. He dug in his pocket and pulled out some loose change. "Why don't you get a treat for the children for the train?"_

 _The woman accepted the money eagerly. She glared at Grigg as she herded her children out of the room._

 _Once they were alone, Charles' anger faltered. He was the injured party, but he was outnumbered and he felt vulnerable. His best move would be to leave, but he couldn't. The future he'd imagined with Alice was like an anchor that held him in place. If there was still a chance…_

 _Alice sighed as she faced Charles. "So you know." It wasn't a question. "How did you find out?" Alice looked as much at Grigg as at Charles._

 _In answer, Charles pulled out the two photos in his pocket._

 _"Ah, I was worried about that," Alice admitted. "I told you to be careful, Charlie. To look out for him."_

 _"It was an eventful night and I slipped," Grigg rationalized. "I kept it under my pillow." He smiled at Alice as though expecting this show of sentimentality to impress her._

 _"Fool," Alice gruffed._

 _"If you two are going to squabble, I'm going to leave," Charles said petulantly. This whole situation was too surreal for him. He wanted to escape.  
_

 _"No, Charles, please, stay," Alice asked with a voice that was suddenly sweeter. "I want to explain."_

 _"Then explain," Charles said in a voice devoid of emotion. He drew on his experience as footman to make his countenance calm and unreadable to mask the painful truth._

 _"I care for you, Charles," Alice said softly. "And I care for Charlie."_

 _"Hmph," Charles grunted and refused to look at Alice's hypnotically deep brown eyes._

 _"I care for you both, but in different ways. I wish it weren't so, but that's the situation."_

 _"And that's your explanation?" Charles asked sarcastically. "Well, thank you for that, I feel much better."_

 _"I'm not sure how to make you understand,Charles," Alice sighed in frustration. "People like you don't think people should care for more than one person, but Charlie gets it. He knew about my relationship with you and it didn't bother him. He would never ask me to give you up."_

 _"That's very big of you, Charlie," Charles said darkly and glared at Grigg. "Of course he knew about our relationship. He was there most of the time we had together. You and I didn't hide anything. We didn't have to."_

 _Grigg and Alice were both silenced by their guilt._

 _"How did this happen?" Charles demanded as his grip on his composure slipped. "When did it start?"_

 _"I suppose you could say it started the night you took me to the opera," Alice admitted reluctantly._

 _Charles clenched his fists and ground his teeth. He knew the night she meant. Two weeks after the ball, he'd taken her to see 'Il trovatore'. He remembered it clearly because it was the night he'd started falling in love with her. She'd been so beautiful that night, so genteel. Most of the night he'd watched her instead of the opera. He'd been enchanted by her. At the tragic climax of the action, she'd cried for the doomed lovers, Leonora and Manrico. Charles was moved by her tears, which sparkled in her eyes like precious diamonds. Here is a delicate, cultured woman who could share his life, his sensibilities, he'd told himself._

 _"As you had on previous occasions, you walked me home. Though I'd been dropping hints all night that I wanted you to kiss me properly, you only kissed my hand and left," Alice recalled. "I was so upset by your rejection that I began to cry."_

 _Charles shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. It should probably make him feel better to know that she'd cried over him, but it didn't._

 _"Not two minutes after you'd left, there was a knock at the door. At that hour, I knew it could only be you. I thought you'd come to your senses. When I opened the door, Charlie was there."_

 _Charles' scowl deepened._

 _"I was so startled that I let him in. He asked how the evening had gone and I told him of my frustration."_

 _"Frustration?"_

 _"I was enjoying our time together, but it wasn't enough. I needed more," Alice said, unable to meet Charles' eyes._

 _"More what?"_

 _"I'm in the prime of my life, Charles. I'll never be more beautiful than I am right now," Alice asserted. "I needed you to appreciate that."_

 _"I did. I do," Charles insisted, unaware that he was still trying to win her back. "Didn't I tell you that you were lovely?"_

 _"But you only told me I was beautiful. Words are easy, Charles. I needed you to show me." Alice had approached Charles and was standing almost flush against him. "But you were always the perfect gentleman."_

 _Charles took a step back, watching Alice warily. He was starting to understand the implication in her words._

 _"I was starting to think you were like Giuseppe the Magician," Alice said.  
_

 _This confused Charles no end. "You thought I was Italian?"_

 _Grigg snorted derisively. "You really are hopeless, mate. Everyone knew about Giuseppe."_

 _"Knew what?" Charles' head was spinning. What did a magician have to do with him?  
_

 _"I thought you preferred the company of men," Alice clarified._

 _Charles was aghast. "Giuseppe was...? You thought I was...bent?" It was the only word he could think of._

 _"You are very fastidious," Grigg contributed. Charles shot him a look that would kill._

 _"You aren't helping, Charlie," Alice admonished him. "That night, Charlie explained that you weren't…different, you just had an overdeveloped sense of propriety. He told me that you were too principled to be with a woman before you were properly married to her. I told him that wasn't enough for me; I needed to be adored. He dried my tears and offered to take care of me."_

 _"Your needs…? Take care of you…?" The truth came crashing down on Charles like ton of bricks. "Good Lord, are you saying…you and Charlie…you've been…intimate?"_

 _Alice nodded her head once and kept her gaze downcast. Charles stumbled backwards in shock. It had hurt him enough to think Alice had been stringing both partners along. It had stung his ego to think he was in competition with the likes of Grigg, but the reality was even more devastating. Charles was the cockold; the trusting fool at whom Grigg and Alice laughed while they shared a licentious bed._

 _"You chose to be with him rather than wait for me." Charles wasn't overly vain, but he knew that he was a better man than Charlie Grigg on almost every score.  
_

 _"How long would I have had to wait, Charles? A year? Maybe two? A woman can only wait for so long."_

 _"Some things are worth waiting for," Charles argued._

 _"And some things aren't," Alice countered. "Charlie made me feel wanted right then and there. There was no reason to wait when I could have the best of both worlds. I had one Charlie to fulfill me intellectually and another Charlie to fulfill me-"_

 _"We were the perfect double act," Charles interrupted. He didn't want to hear Alice talk about how Grigg fulfilled her. "Two Cheerful Charlies dedicated to pleasing you. It must be nice, but you must have known that you couldn't have us both."_

 _"Why not?"_

 _"You can't marry two men, for one," Charles argued. "I wanted to marry you."_

 _"What makes you think that I would have married you?" Alice wondered casually. "I earn my own money, I don't need a husband. I'm too young to limit myself to just one man."_

 _"Why do you need more than one?"_

 _"I'm a performer, Charles. I need to be adored by as many people as I can while I'm still pretty and young."_

 _"I knew you were vain, but this is beyond the pale," Charles said bitterly._

 _"We were happy, weren't we?" Alice asked. "We still could be. We could still have fun together; go to the opera together, discuss literature..."_

 _"That's not how it's done," Charles protested._

 _"Not in the world you came from, but it's done all the time in the theater," Alice said as if explaining math to a dull child. "You say that I chose Charlie over you, but I didn't."_

 _"You'll give him up, then?" Charles challenged, already knowing the answer._

 _"I shouldn't have to," Alice said defiantly. "Between the two of you, I get everything I need. We can remain as we were."_

 _"Is there any part of you thatever believed that I would accept such an arrangement?"_

 _"No."_

 _"Then you did choose him," Charles declared, fighting to keep his composure; to keep his voice steady. "You chose to destroy any chance for a future with me the instant you took up with him."_

 _Grigg had wisely receded silently into the background he sensed instinctively that he was not one of the leading players in this drama. When Charles pointed to him, Grigg cringed even deeper into the corner in which he huddled. 'The best of both worlds,' Alice had said. It was hard to think of any world in which Grigg would qualify as 'the best'._

 _"But the letters…" Charles reminded her. "The things we wrote. You knew I wanted something more serious when I returned. You've had months and plenty of opportunities to let me down easily."_

 _"I wasn't ready to let you go," Alice admitted. "I liked being the woman on your arm. I liked the way the other women envied me when we walked down the street."_

 _Charles felt weary and defeated. He looked down at the photos in his hand; the flat, flimsy representation of a lie. How could he have wanted to build his life around something, someone, so superficial? Something inside Charles broke. His hopes were dashed and there was nothing worth salvaging in this wreck. He mind went numb. His body felt light and insubstantial, as if losing his dream had untethered him from the gravity of the Earth. Perhaps our dreams are the only things that make us real, Charles thought irrationally. How does one continue after such a loss? How does one mourn the death of a dream that never stood a chance?  
_

 _Unable to face these questions, Charles shoved all his grief and doubt down deep into his belly as far as it would go. He set his jaw, stepped to Grigg's corner and handed Charlie one of the pictures. "She's all yours, mate."_

 _Charles held the remaining picture out to Alice, who refused to take it. Charles set the photo on the bench beside him._

 _"You accepted him just because I wouldn't kiss you?" Charles mumbled impotently. "You should have told me."_

 _"Would it have changed anything?" Alice wanted to know. "Would you have stayed with me that night if I'd asked you to?"_

 _"I honestly don't know," Charles admitted. "And now, we'll never know."_

 _Charles turned his back to them both and strode towards the exit. Charles had just picked up his case and put his hand on the door to push out of the room when Grigg spoke up. "What about the act?"_

 _Charles pondered before turning to address Grigg. "I will honor my contract to perform until the end of the year or until you find another partner. I suggest you find another partner soon. Do not speak to me unless it pertains directly to the act."_

 _Charles then turned his attention to Alice. "I do not wish to ever speak to you again."_ _Alice bowed her head in acknowledgement._

 _Staring coldly at the pair before him, Charles managed to say, "May you both find all the happiness you deserve." With that, Charles turned and walked away._

 _TBC..._

* * *

 **AN/ Crazy REAL LIFE week, sorry I have not responded to reviews or updated.**

 **I'm not quite done abusing Charles, but Elsie is there, holding him, so don't feel too badly for him.**


	15. Been Caught Stealin'

_Charles burst through the waiting room door and out into the noisy station before escaping to the street beyond. For once, he welcomed the chaos of London. The hubbub of the city drowned out his thoughts. He navigated a circuitous route to his boarding house keeping to the busiest streets and taking him through the most populated squares in the city._

 _"Welcome home, Mr. Carson," the kindly landlady greeted him cheerfully._

 _Charles resisted the urge to tell her that London was most definitely not his home, but it was easiest just to say, "Thank you, Mrs. Orting."_

 _"I put your things back in the room this morning. Thank you for letting us use the room while you were gone."_

 _"Thank you for holding it for me."_

 _"Nonsense! Tenants like you don't come along every day," the middle aged widow said coyly. "You're quiet and well behaved, even if you do keep odd hours."_

 _Charles accepted her exuberance silently. When it came to Mrs. Orting, Charles had learned that any answer would only fan the flames. With the slightest encouragement, the woman would talk for an hour or more. Sometimes he didn't mind letting her prattle on, but he was in no mood now._

 _"I saved your post, as you requested," Mrs. Orting said proudly as she rummaged in her roll top desk. Charles had left instructions that any letters addressed to him could wait until he returned, with the exception of anything from France. "Did you get the one I forwarded?"_

 _"Yes, thank you," Charles answered and accepted several small letters from Mrs. Orting. He had not expected there to be any letters and he had no interest in them at the moment. The letters were quickly stuffed into a pocket and forgotten._

 _Once he reached the relative silence of his boarding room, Charles Carson sat on the edge of his bed. He gave the voices of shame and self-recrimination in his head free rein. He dissected every moment he'd spent in Alice's company. He relived every moment of his humiliation. It was obvious in retrospect that Alice had never been sincere with him. It's how they do things in the theater, she'd claimed. Charles had had no way of knowing; no way of predicting. The theatre was a world where the rules remained unwritten. Charles couldn't be sure of himself in a world with no rules._

 _Charles moved to unpack his case, but stopped when confronted by the bundle of letters at the top. He was tempted to reread them, to pour salt into his wounds, but he was too weary for such self-abuse. He untied the ribbon and held one letter, debating. On an impulse, he held the letter over the chimney of his lamp. Smoke blackened the envelope immediately, but it took a few seconds for the heat to begin to brown and curl the paper. When the paper caught fire, Charles turned the letter over slowly, guiding the flames as they consumed Alice's lies. His fingers were beginning to feel the heat of the flames, but he held on a little longer before he tossed the letter into the cold hearth. There, he watched it slowly burn out leaving only a corner with a stamp bearing the image of the Queen. Victoria's haughty expression seemed to say, 'This is what happens when you try to reach above your station.'_

 _He took the next letter and repeated the action. One by one, Charles destroyed the words that he had once found so sweet. It was late by the time he'd used a candle to burn off the remnants of the envelopes that had gathered in the hearth. He had expected to feel liberated by the act, but he felt no differently. The memories of his time with Alice would not be so easily purged. Fire could not extract poison and his heart had been poisoned. Thinking Alice's love a sweet honey, he had accepted in into the deepest recesses of his heart. Now that honey had turned into venom than ran so deeply within him that it could not be removed without destroying him completely._

 _Exhausted by the day, Charles lay down on his bed and slept. He did not wake until after noon the next day when Mrs. Orting brought him tea. He ate nothing, and drank little. When he was brushing down his jacket before dressing, Charles found the post Mrs. Orting had given him the day before. There were three letters. Two were condolences from servants who had worked with his mother in Manchester. The third was also a letter of condolence, but not from a servant. Charles had hardly believed his eyes when he saw the handwriting on the elegant stationary._

 _The letter was succinct and proper. It could have been copied word for word from a book of etiquette, but Charles was touched nonetheless. Seeing Lady Grantham's genteel and delicate handwriting transported him momentarily back to Yorkshire, a place where he had been respected._

 _Charles pulled out his own, boring stationary and sat down to write replies to each of the letters. He wrote exactly the same message to each of them, nothing personal or maudlin. He did not tell them that he was lost and alone. He did not beg Lady Grantham for a position at Downton. That was not how things were done. Something about just following a basic social rule made Charles feel infinitesimally better. He felt more grounded. Here were expectations and conventions that he understood. Though he was still not on solid ground, he felt steadied with something, no matter how tenuous to grasp hold of._

 _At four, he dressed and shaved before walking to the theatre. He posted his letters on the way. At the theatre, Charles was met by knowing but sympathetic glances. The news had traveled fast. Part of Charles wondered if they'd always known, if he was the only one fooled by Alice and Grigg. He was determined not to ask anyone. He did not want to know._

 _At the door to the dressing room he and Grigg shared, Charles took a fortifying breath. It was unnecessary, however, for the room was empty. From the mess at the dressing table, Charles could tell that Grigg had already come and gone. Charles sat down to face the mirror. He painted his face without meeting the eyes in the mirror. When he was done, Charles pulled on the garish jacket and shiny bowler hat that constituted his costume. He ran through the routine in his head as he walked to the theatre wings. As much as he wanted to throttle Grigg on stage for the crowd's amusement, Charles was determined to be professional. He was determined to be Cheerful._

 _The tumbler act which preceded the Cheerful Charlies was winding down just as Charles arrived. They took their bows and cartwheeled off the stage. Charles did not see Grigg until the shorter man sauntered onto the stage whistling their first tune. Charles entered right on cue._

-00-

"You still performed with him?" Elsie asked, unable to believe her ears. As difficult as it had been, she'd kept her silence as he described Alice's delicate evisceration of his guts. Elsie sensed that he would never make it through the story if she interrupted him there, but this was too much.

"What was I to do?" Charles asked. "I'd signed a contract."

"But wasn't it…how did you...?" Elsie was too flustered to find words, so she just pulled his head to her chest and rained kisses down on his beautiful brow. "Only you, Charles. Only you would honor an agreement under those circumstances. My poor, poor man."

Charles basked in her attention for a little before raising his head and kissing her properly. With a sad smile, he tried to assure her that the past was not so painful now as it had once been. "It does not matter if I was a poor man then, for I am a rich man now."

Elsie would not be distracted by his flanneling. "But it must have been so horrible for you."

"It wasn't as bad as you might think," Charles assured her. "They gave us separate dressing rooms after that first night and the stage was still a refuge for me. On stage, I knew that everything was a lie, but there was a comfort in that. On stage, there was a script. Neither Grigg nor I deviated from the script. I knew that every night I would get the better of him and the audience would relish witnessing his comeuppance."

"You should have revived the knife juggling," Elsie growled. "You could have made it look like an accident."

"I wish I'd thought of that," Charles laughed heartily at his vengeful minded wife. It was fortunate for Grigg that Elsie hadn't known the truth the last time he'd come to Yorkshire.

"What of Alice?"

"I didn't see her at all. Once or twice I caught sight of Kathleen, but she quickly ducked back into a room or down a hallway. Obviously, she was checking to see if the coast was clear for Alice."

"How long did you have to endure that arrangement?"

"Thankfully, not for very long. The shock insulated me. I think it was just starting to wear off when the company manager, Mr. Floyd, visited me in my dressing room after the show."

-00-

 _"Come in," Charles responded to the knock on his dressing room door._

 _"Evening, Charles," Mr. Floyd said jovially but then tempered his enthusiasm. "How are you?"_

 _"Besides being the laughing stock of the company, I'm doing well," Charles said with empty jocularity. "What can I do for you?"_

 _"I am buying out your contract."_

 _"You don't have to do that. If you feel the act has suffered since…" Charles didn't feel as though he had to explain. "You should just sack us. You are not obligated to pay Charlie or I off."_

 _"The act is fine, maybe even better now that everyone can see just how much distaste you have for Grigg," Mr. Floyd opined. "And I won't be paying Grigg anything. He's been stealing from the box office."_

 _"Stealing?" Charles was genuinely surprised. "He said he was having a good run at the tables."_

 _"He probably was. You can be more aggressive when you're gambling with someone else's money. He wasn't stealing very much at a time, a few pounds here and there, but he got greedy in Manchester."_

 _"He lost most of his money betting on pugilists. He was relieved to get a game together that last night."_

 _"There was a game, but the buy in was twenty pounds. The till was twenty pounds light when it was counted the next morning." Mr. Floyd explained. "I usually tally the box office receipts at the end of each week, but I'd been doing it daily since we came to Manchester. I'd been suspecting a thief for some time."_

 _"Why didn't you do something about it right away?"_

 _"I wanted proof. I've had the till under surveillance since we returned. Grigg was seen going into my office tonight between acts. I'm on my way to confront him right now. Mr. Richards is already with him."_

 _"He'll deny it," Charles warned._

 _"I expect no less, which is why I had the bills marked. Let him try to talk his way out of that."_

 _"What will you do with him?"_

 _"If he pays back all the money he stole, I'll only sack him. If he can't repay me, I'll have him arrested."_

 _"You know he doesn't still have all the money," Charles noted with a frown._

 _"What do you care if he goes to jail?"_

 _"I know I shouldn't, but I do," Charles admitted. "I knew he was a shady character, but I thought he'd just try to talk people out of their money. I never thought he was a common thief."_

 _"Most people are more common that you think," Mr. Floyd observed philosophically. "I'd say you were an exception. It's no wonder the Neale girls targeted you."_

 _"Targeted me?"_

 _Mr. Floyd realized too late that he'd said the wrong thing. He debated briefly before deciding to explain. "I'm not making any excuses for them, mind you, but they were only doing what they'd been taught."_

 _"What do you mean?"_

 _"They've been in this business since they were very young. Young women in this line of work are often taken advantage of." Mr. Floyd did not elaborate and Charles did not ask him to._

 _"It's usual for women in the theatre to seek out a protector when they come to a new company. They wouldn't have had to ask around much to learn that you were respected and available. After that…" Mr. Floyd shrugged._

 _"After that…what?" Charles prompted._

 _"It was just a question of which one of them would...recruit you. Alice is the prettier of the two, so I assume that's why the task fell to her."_

 _Before that moment, Charles had thought he'd reached the depths of his humiliation. His whole body slumped as he realized that it had all been a lie from before the beginning._

 _"I'm sorry, lad," Mr. Floyd said sincerely. "I know it's hard to hear, but I thought you deserved the truth. The truth is, you're better than this life. I'd offer to keep you on, but…"_

 _"Without Charlie, I'm not an act," Charles finished. "I don't sing or dance well enough to be a solo."  
_

 _"You're a fair juggler and you've some strength," Mr. Floyd assessed. "I could add you to one of the tumbling acts, but I think we both know you don't belong in this life. I think you've known that all along."_

 _Charles nodded. He had known from the start that this wouldn't last. He felt a kind of relief now that he'd been released from his obligation._

 _"Here's two weeks and a little something special," Mr. Floyd lay the bills on the dressing table along with a mostly full pint of whiskey that he'd pulled from his pocket. "Will you be alright?"_

 _Charles nodded again. "I've some money saved up. I'm certain I'll be able to find work before it runs out."_

 _"I'm glad to hear it," the manager smiled. Charles stood and the two men shook hands. "Cheer up, Charles. Just think, some day you'll be able to shock your respectable grandchildren with tales about the year you spent on stage."_

 _Charles waited until Mr. Floyd had left and the door was closed before answering, "I very much doubt that."  
_

 _TBC..._

* * *

 **AN/ I know many of you wish we were done with Alice. Next chapter is the last...and then it's on to Downton and the arrival of our heroine into the back story!**


	16. A Lie You Can Believe In

"So I said goodbye to the theatre," Charles said with a wry smile. "I left my ugly costume coat for the piano player, Paul, who was roughly my size, but I kept the bowler.

"I didn't speak to anyone as I left. I didn't have any individuals to whom I wanted to say goodbye. At least when I left Downton, I'd said goodbye to Mrs. Curtis and Mr. Brooks and the Family. I realized that I had never let myself fully commit to the theatre, that I'd always assumed it was temporary. I wondered if that had been a mistake, or if it had protected me in the end.

"When I got back to my room, I decided to open the pint of whiskey Mr. Floyd had given me. It wasn't quite full as he'd already opened it, but I knew it was enough to get me light headed. I removed my jacket, waistcoat and collar, but I didn't dress for bed or go to sleep because I knew someone would be visiting later."

"Who were you expecting?"

"Grigg, or someone on his behalf. I knew he didn't have the money to pay Floyd back and I knew he'd do anything to avoid being arrested. I also knew he'd feel that I owed him something…"

"You owed _him?"_ Elsie couldn't believe she'd heard correctly.

"For bringing me into the theatre," Charles explained. "I'd made a successful living for over a year because of him. Charlie wasn't the type to dismiss that kind of debt over a girl."

Elsie's expression showed that she strongly disagreed with Grigg's presumption, but she held her tongue.

"To kill time, I decided to read. I almost picked up 'Great Expectations' but I wasn't in the mood to read about a manipulative woman and the love struck sod who worshiped her. Instead, I decided on 'Nicholas Nickleby'. Kate Nickleby was never one of my favorite Dickensian heroines, but she's virtuous and steadfast. Plus, Nicholas spends some time with the acting troupe, so it felt appropriate."

Elsie understood what Charles was confessing. He'd run back to the safety of his books; to a world where he already knew how the story ended. He knew virtue was rewarded and selfishness punished, if not immediately, then eventually and often ironically.

"I was reading one of my favorite passages, the one where Nicholas and Smike meet Mr. Crummles, when there was a knock on the door. It was well after midnight and all the whiskey was gone."

-00-

 _"Charles, please wake up. Please open the door." It was Alice._

 _Charles' belly burned with whiskey and bile at Grigg's audacity. It wasn't enough to ask for money, he'd sent Alice to do the asking. Charles stood up from the bed quickly, causing his head to spin slightly. He dropped the book on the bed and pulled clumsily at his braces, trying to pull them back up to his shoulders. He only half succeeded and one brace was left dangling at his side as he opened the door in his shirtsleeves._

 _"How much?" Charles demanded roughly. He must have looked quite a sight for Alice took a step back in alarm._

 _"What?" She stammered._

 _"How much does Grigg want from me?"_

 _"How did you know…"_

 _"How much?" Charles repeated, brooking no conversation. He turned his back on her and stumbled to the dresser that held the cigar box with his mementos and the money he'd saved since coming to London. He tried not to think that he'd once thought of spending this money on a golden ring._

 _"Charles, I'm sorry. I never meant for you to find out like that." Alice followed him into the room and closed the door behind her. The hairs on the back of Charles' neck stood up as he heard the click._

 _Even though she'd broken his heart, Charles was not far enough removed from thinking himself in love with Alice to be immune to her charms. He'd always acted the perfect gentleman with her, but he had desired her once; very much. He'd thought of her as the mother of his children, as his wife and helpmate. He'd thought of the two of them behind closed doors in their own rooms. In this little room, with the world shut off behind the feeble door, those fantasies resurfaced in his whiskey muddled mind. Now that he knew of her history with Grigg, Charles knew that those fantasies could be realized. She was already a fallen woman. It wasn't as though he'd be the one who corrupted her. Before Charles could follow through with these thoughts, he remembered himself and how she had betrayed him._

 _"You never meant for me to find out at all," he rumbled. "Grigg has some gall sending you."  
_

 _"I volunteered to come," Alice told him softly. "I wanted to explain..."_

 _"You've already explained." Charles gripped the sides of the dresser, steadying himself. "At the station."_

 _"Not properly," Alice cajoled. "How could I with Charlie standing right there?"_

 _"What do you mean?"_

 _"I mean, I couldn't tell you the truth because I would lose him too."_

 _"Some loss," Charles muttered as he turned to look at her, removing the box from the dresser._

 _"I'd already lost you, I couldn't lose you both."_

 _"Yeah, he's a real gem, our Charlie," Charles spat bitterly. "Now, how much is it that you need to keep him out of jail?" He opened the cigar box and started to pull out the bills within. Alice put her hand on his arm to stop him. Charles jumped back as if she'd burned him. Somehow, he managed not to fall, but as he recovered, Alice burst suddenly into tears. She turned her back to him, collapsed onto his bed and buried her face in her hands as she continued to cry._

 _Charles instinct was to place his arms around her to comfort her, but he remembered himself enough to resist the urge. Charles set his jaw with resolve not to be moved by her theatrics.  
_

 _Slowly, her sobs lessened as Charles watched, standing as still as a statue._

 _"I didn't mean for you to be hurt," Alice managed to say between sobs. "I didn't know…I didn't believe…"_

 _Despite himself, Charles was drawn closer to her. "What didn't you believe?"_

 _"That you were really the man you claimed to be," Alice answered, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes._

 _"I've met plenty of men who pretend to be gentlemen in public but…weren't." She began sobbing again. "I thought you were like them."_

 _"And you were disappointed when I wasn't?" Charles was perplexed._

 _Alice shook her head in denial. "I was confused, not disappointed. I didn't know what to do. I'd never met anyone like you." Tears were still flowing heavily from her eyes and a trail of snot was coming from her delicate nose. Charles cursed himself silently as he offered Alice the handkerchief from his pocket. She took it gratefully but did not look him in the eye._

 _"You didn't expect me to behave like a gentleman?" Charles asked sarcastically. "I guess you and Kathleen didn't do your homework when you were finding out about me."_

 _Alice hid her face in his handkerchief with renewed tears._

 _"You came to that ball with a plan to meet me and seduce me," Charles accused. Alice nodded, her whole body trembling in shame. "Tell me, did you and Kathleen draw straws to see who would have to recruit your latest protector?"_

 _Alice shook her head and raised her eyes to him defiantly. "It wasn't like that!"_

 _"Wasn't it?"_

 _"You've no idea, Charles Carson! You've no idea what it's like for us; for Kathleen and I," she yelled at him. "Charlie may not be a gentleman like you, but he's a prince compared to some I've met. Yes, when we arrived in the company we asked about the available men. And yes, we very quickly singled you out, but I was honestly drawn to you."_

 _Charles opened his mouth to crow at this confession, but Alice was working up a head of steam and kept driving on._

 _"Kathleen left a beau in Belfast, so it fell to me to find us a protector," Alice proclaimed. "And I was glad to do it. I'd watched you on stage since we arrived. I thought you handsome and witty, even if Charlie did write all the good jokes."_

 _Alice gave him a wry look, as if hopeful that her teasing might soften his resolve. Charles glowered at her with a clenched jaw and his cigar box of mementos still clutched in front of him. How dare she laugh at him?_

 _"When we asked around, we found that people at the theatre respected you. They didn't know much about you, but everyone said the same things about you; you were soft spoken, didn't drink to excess and kept to yourself. You were perfect. No one would bother Kathleen or I if we were under your protection._

 _"Those first weeks after we met..." Alice continued. Her tears had slowed and she only hiccupped occasionally as she calmed. "Those weeks were some of the happiest of my life. No man had ever treated me like a lady before. I've only ever been used as a trophy for men to show off to their mates or an expensive, high class whore."_

 _Charles cringed at her language, but his expression softened. His experience hadn't exposed him to the world Alice was describing. He couldn't help but pity her for having lived in it for so long. It was a world he didn't want to know any better.  
_

 _"With you, I felt special; valued. The night we went to the opera, I felt you watching me. I knew you were starting to have feelings for me. I knew they were not the capricious desires of a young man sowing his wild oats, but sincere affection that only a sincere heart can feel."_

 _Charles felt tears start to sting in his eyes; tears of sympathy mixed with tears of anger. He pitied her, but he felt it was a violation for her to speak to him of his feelings._

 _"That was the night I understood that you really were every bit the gentleman that you appeared to be," Alice stood up from the bed and stood before him. Her breath shuddered as she inhaled, but her words flowed from her in a calm stream. "I didn't know that people like you existed, Charles. I was scared and I didn't know what to do. When you left that night, I did cry, but I didn't cry because you'd rejected me. I cried because I knew I would have to let you go. I could never be the lady that you thought I was. I could never be the woman who deserved you."_

 _Charles had not realized that his hands were shaking until Alice reached out to touch him. He did not recoil this time, but his anger rose enough to give him the power of speech for exactly one syllable. "Grigg?"_

 _"He did come to the door, as I said and he did confirm that you were a man of principles and morals," Alice explained. "You were right; I did choose him. I told myself the only way I could find the strength to walk away from you was if I had someone else. So I chose to be with the Charlie that I deserved."_

 _"But why…?" Charles choked out half a question but couldn't finish._

 _"Why didn't I tell you the truth?" Alice interpreted. "I meant to, but I told you the truth about that; I was vain and selfish. I liked how being with you made me feel. I liked to imagine that I actually was the lady you saw in me. It was a role that I was not willing to relinquish."_

 _She hung her head in shame, but smoothed her hand up his arm as she spoke. "I told myself that I'd break things off with you before you found out about Grigg, but I kept putting it off. I told myself no one would get hurt if I handled it correctly."_

 _Alice looked up into his face and read his pain and confusion there. She reached up to wipe a tear from his cheek, but it was quickly replaced by another. "Oh, Charles, I'm so sorry. I was going to write to you when you were on the road and end things. I thought it would give us a clean break, but then…your mother died and our correspondence seemed to mean so much to you."_

 _"And your letters meant so much to me." Charles turned his head slightly to shake off Alice's hand from his face. "I made up my mind to end things with Charlie. I wanted to try to be the woman you saw. I thought, with you by my side, I might actually succeed._

 _"We all walk through life playing roles, Charles. We never show our true selves to anyone. It's how we protect ourselves," Alice said. "I know you understand that from your years as a footman as much as from your time on stage."_

 _Her hand had dropped from his to face to rest on his chest, over his heart, which miraculously continued to beat though it was broken seemingly beyond repair. Charles nodded slowly at her words. He agreed with her. Everyone lives a lie. The secret is to find a lie that you can be proud of; a lie you can make yourself believe in. He looked deeply into Alice's dark and beautiful eyes. He could almost believe the lie she was telling him; almost, but not quite._

 _Charles raised the open cigar box as a barrier between them, brushing her hand away from him. "How much?" He asked coldly though the tears on his face betrayed the emotions inside him._

 _Alice had lost her last bid for Charles. She would have to make due with Charlie. "Twenty-seven pounds."_

 _"Here's thirty." Like the pieces of silver, Charles thought. "I'm paying my debt and buying my freedom. Tell Charlie never to contact me or look for me." He didn't need to clarify that the message applied to Alice as well.  
_

 _Alice took the notes and put them into the bag at her wrist. Before closing the bag, she pulled out the picture he'd returned to her at the station._

 _"Please take this, Charles. I'd like to think that someday you'll find the woman who deserves you and you can forgive me for pretending to be her." When he didn't move, Alice dropped the photo into the box on top of the letters it already held. She stood on her toes and kissed his lips with her hand pressed to his cheek. It was a slow, lingering kiss during which Charles stood absolutely still. It was the only kiss they ever shared. When she pulled away, fresh tears were in her eyes and running down her face._

 _"I hope you find her Charles. I truly do."_

 _With that, Alice Neale walked out of his life forever, but the damage she'd done would cripple him for decades._

 _TBC…_

* * *

 **AN/ So long, Alice, have fun with Grigg, the lying cheat! Maybe she was sincere with Charles in the end or maybe not. Maybe Grigg lied about her deathbed confession about loving Charles...or maybe not. Charles will never know and neither will we.**


	17. Free From the Past

Elsie and Charles lay in their nest of pillows staring silently into the fire before them. They both knew they'd reached the low point of his story. Charles gave a bemused sigh and turned his gaze from the fire to Elsie. He was dismayed to see that she was crying gently.

"Elsie, love." He jumped in to action, wiping at her tears with the edge of a blanket. "You aren't meant to cry. That's the whole point of the story. I can talk about it now and it doesn't hurt in the least."

"Truly?" Elsie asked with a sniff. Her expression said that she wasn't sure she believed him.

"Yes," Charles avowed. "Do you remember when Grigg came to Downton the first time?"

Elsie nodded. She hadn't met the man, but Charles had told her about him a few months after the Mrs. Crawley had joined the hospital board. She was glad to learn the truth because it had explained some of Mr. Carson's odd and worrisome behavior around the time.

"It did still hurt then. I hadn't thought about my time in the theatre for over a decade. Seeing Grigg suddenly unearthed shame and bitterness that I'd thought long gone," Charles confessed. "But it wasn't gone; only buried. I was so shocked by the power those memories still had that I didn't even have the courage to ask Grigg about Alice. I just wanted to get him out of my life again as quickly as possible."

"And the time he was in the workhouse?"

"So much had happened since his first visit; war, illness, death. It put the past into perspective. I didn't refuse to help him because it hurt me to see him. I refused to help him because I knew the man that he was and I didn't want to let him back into my life. I didn't want him to hurt the people I cared for," Charles confessed.

"That's why I was angry when you said you'd gone to see him. The Grigg I knew was a manipulator and a cheat. I should have told you at the time, but I was still ashamed of how I'd been fooled by Grigg and Alice. Still, that wasn't pain, it was embarrassment. I didn't want you to know about my humiliation."

"Are you certain it didn't still hurt?"

"Maybe it still stung a little," Charles shrugged. "But not as much as I would have expected. That's why I sought out her picture. I hadn't seen it in years. The last time I'd happened on it was probably before Lady Mary was born. I remember it still hurt me then."

"But when I found you in your office?" Elsie wondered. "What did you feel when you saw the picture?"

"It was just a picture of someone I'd known a long time ago. I did feel that she used me ill. I couldn't rewrite the past enough to deny that, but there was no anger or pain when I saw the picture. I just had a small touch of nostalgic melancholy."

"I remember," Elsie laughed. "'In the end we all must die.' Yes, a bit melancholy."

"But you wouldn't let me wallow in it," Charles smiled at her remembering her cheeky response. "'Well, that's cheered me up.'" Charles said in a fair Scottish accent.

"Don't get any ideas of returning to the stage, Mr. Carson," Elsie laughed. "But you accepted the photo when I framed it, you couldn't have wanted it."

"As I've told you before, love, when I looked at it, I didn't think about the woman in the picture as much as about the woman who'd given the gift," Charles explained. "It made me think of the memories we've made together over the years. I thought of the happy times like servant's balls or evenings over sherry. I thought of the bittersweet moments like when you admitted that you'd miss me if I left for Haxby or our little fights over silly things. I thought of William and Lady Sybil. I thought of the time when we thought you might be ill. Those memories were more vivid to me than anything that happened in London when I was in my twenties."

"'The business of life is the acquisition of memories?'" Elsie quoted to him in a low voice.

"Exactly," Charles agreed, giving her a loving squeeze. "And the most precious memories will always stay vivid and fresh. The most precious memories I have are all with you."

"The feeling is mutual, my love." Elsie settled comfortably into Charles' arms. After a few moments, she gave out an exasperated huff.

"I still can't believe I helped that man," Elsie recriminated herself. "And I recruited Mrs. Crawley to help him!"

"Of course you did, my love. That's who you are," Charles smiled at her. "I didn't understand it at the time, but I do now."

"What do you understand?"

"When we're unable to help ourselves, it gives us comfort to help others. That's what you were trying to tell me about Mrs. Crawley." Charles kissed his wife's furrowed brow. "And now I understand that it's true of you too."

"What do you mean?"

"You've always been so kind and attentive to the needs of others," Charles said proudly. "In a way, I think that's because you can't be there for Becky."

Elsie was startled by Charles' insight. She hadn't been thinking of Becky when she helped Grigg. Not specifically. Of course, her obligation to Becky was always in the back of her mind. Maybe her drive to care for everyone around her was a manifestation of her guilt over not caring directly for her sister. All the maids and footmen she'd helped were proxies for Becky. Elsie looked at her husband with pride. He'd always been intelligent, but propriety had made him neglect his own emotional development. He was so different now that he was free to be himself, she mused. It was even more pronounced when they were safely hidden away in their own home beyond Downton's reach.

"When did you become so wise, Mr. Carson?"

"Marriage has been very illuminating. I must get it from my wife," Charles informed her with a wink. He kissed her nose playfully.

"But the flattery is all your own," Elsie teased back as Charles lips lowered to her neck.

"Mmmm," Elsie encouraged. "But Charles, you can't stop there," she said breathily.

"I don't intend to," he purred into the delicate hollow of her collarbone as one hand began unbuttoning her blouse.

"I was referring to your story, Charles," Elsie giggled, but he wasn't paying attention. "Why don't I heat up some of the stew Mrs. Patmore sent for us? We can finish your story over dinner."

Food was the only thing Elsie knew of that might distract Charles from his present mission of unbuttoning her blouse, but he didn't indicate that he'd heard her. "Charles?" She tapped the top of his head, trying to get his attention.

"Charles!" Elsie cried out as he startled her. In one motion, he had lifted her up and pinned her beneath him in the soft jumble of pillows and blankets.

"The stew can wait, Mrs. Hughes. I'm already warmed up," Charles growled.

"Are you now?" Elsie stared laughingly up at his seductive, adoring and pleading eyes. Elsie could see that he wasn't ready to continue with his story yet. He needed to drown out the last echoes of his past with Alice before starting the next chapter of his tale. "Then you'd best prove it, Mr. Carson."

TBC...

* * *

 **AN/ I thought we needed a little break from Charles' story for some adult Chelsie fun. The next chapter (18) is a continuation of this brief interlude and is intended for Mature Readers only. It will post almost immediately.**

 **If you like your Chelsie PG-13 wait for the next update. Chapter 19 will return us tastefully to our story in a few days.  
**


	18. MATURE CONTENT

**AN/ Posted simultaneously with Chapter 17. This is the Rated M continuation of that Chapter. Read 17 first and then return here if you're into this sort of thing;)**

* * *

 **-M Rated Until Next Chapter-**

She pulled him down to her with her hand pressed to the back of his head, buried in his hair. Elsie understood instinctively that Charles needed all of her passion in this moment. He did not doubt her affection, but after recounting his history with Alice, it was understandable that he craved reassurance that he was loved and desired.

For his part, Charles was out to prove that he was a husband who could satisfy his wife in every way. Once again, Alice's loss was Elsie's gain. Along with the ever present reverence, there was an intensity and urgency in his attentions. They both remained half-dressed throughout their lovemaking, removing only those items of clothing keeping them from joining.

When they did join, Elsie's body slipped immediately into a state of ecstasy that wrapped around her like a plush robe after a hot bath. Warmth radiated through her and around her. She panted thanks and encouragement into her husband's broad chest as he moved above her. His shirt was half open. Ignoring the popping buttons, Elsie dug her hands into the gap of his shirt, wrapping her arms around his back, her nails digging into his burning flesh, drawing him closer again and again in an ancient rhythm that predated language.

The warmth inside her became a heat. In a sudden rush, that heat boiled over. Her back arched, her legs gripped him, her lungs emptied in a long moan of deepest pleasure. Still, his body kept time, rocking them both. Slowly Elsie regained a tenuous control over the untamable joy coursing through her. The side of her face was pressed against his chest with her mouth and nose buried in the solid muscle of his bicep. Anticipating another wave of heat, she bit down. It was not a hard bite, but enough so that Charles grunted in appreciation. His movements slowed briefly as he gathered himself for the last push to the summit.

"I love you so much," he rumbled. "So much."

With the skin of his bicep between her teeth, Elsie nodded and answered back incoherently, "Mmmhmm mm mmm."

Charles braced his forehead and forearm against the floor and pushed the other arm beneath her, steadying her and supporting her back to bring her body to just the right angle. He knew it was right when she increased the pressure of her bite and moaned.

At this encouragement, Charles became a focused frenzy of flesh. He moved with a power and prowess surprising in a man his age. Elsie moved with him, absorbing his power and returning it to him stronger, her own strength added to his. She tasted the sweat on his skin as she sucked at the spot she'd already bitten.

They both knew this level of intensity could not be maintained for long, but it did not need to be. Mere heartbeats apart, Elsie and Charles crested the wave of passion together. They hung briefly suspended as the wave dissolved beneath them. Then, they came crashing back down in a tumble of sweat and limbs. Breathless and spent, Charles collapsed just to the side of his wife. He was too tired to roll over, but mindful not to crush her. His arm lay across her and Elsie saw the angry red mark her teeth and lips had left. She traced the small oval gently with a fingertip.

"I got a little carried away, I'm afraid," Elsie sighed as she observed her craftsmanship with a chuckle.

"Just 'a little'?" Charles teased. He found the strength to raise his head just enough to nuzzle his nose just behind her ear.

"At least I remembered not to leave a mark where others might see it," she said reasonably. Charles sleepily muttered something incoherent. "No falling asleep now, Mr. Carson! We'll have none of that. You've a story to finish."

"Yes, dear." Charles opened his eyes and tried to shake himself awake. "Why don't I make us some coffee?"

"We'll be hungry, so I'll heat up that stew," Elsie added as she sat up and began to refasten her blouse. She moved Charles' arm and helped him roll over onto his back. She saw his state of dishevelment and smiled wickedly. "After I get you a shirt that has more than two buttons left on it."

"You take such good care of me," Charles purred.

"Because you need taking care of, my dear," Elsie answered. She gave him a quick kiss, and stood up. She smoothed down her skirt and tucked in her blouse. But for her hair, she looked respectable as she towered over Charles who still lay tangled in the blankets on the floor.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Charles asked with a grin. From beneath a blanket, he slowly withdrew a lacy pair of women's undergarments.

"Throw them in the laundry room with the blankets," she commanded in her best housekeeper voice before turning crisply on her heel and leaving.

Charles chuckled at his imperious wife; ever the housekeeper. "Yes, Mrs. Hughes."

TBC...

* * *

 **AN/ I hadn't written anything truly 'M' in a while, so I decided to give them some fun. Hope you enjoyed it.**


	19. Return of the Prodigal Son

**AN/ I'm glad you all enjoyed the detour into M-ness. We all seemed in agreement that our lovelies needed a break and Charles needed a little reassurance. Luckily for Elsie, this kindness was it's own reward.**

 **Now...Back to Downton!**

* * *

They were sitting in the kitchen at the large table. The table was quite broad and neither of them wanted to sit opposite each other, considering the distance too far. For this reason, they were in their accustomed positions at the head of the table. The kitchen was warmed by the heat still coming from the oven on the new gas range. It had astonished them both how quickly the appliance had heated up.

Charles dug into his stew with gusto but still managed to maintain perfect manners. Elsie watched him with a smile on her face. As proper as he insisted on being, her man certainly was a man of appetites. For this, she was thankful.

"Do I have something on my face?" Charles asked when he noticed her gazing at him.

"No," she laughed at the delicate way he dabbed the napkin to his lips.

"Then why are you grinning at me like that?" He lay aside the napkin and reached a hand on the table towards his wife.

"I was just thinking that I hope you enjoy my cooking as much as you enjoy Mrs. Patmore's," Elsie confessed, taking and squeezing his hand.

"Are you saying that you're looking forward to cooking?" Charles asked, genuinely surprised. "We've never discussed it before. I've never even seen you cook."

"That's probably because Mrs. Patmore won't let anyone but her or her girls so much as boil water in her kitchen unless it's an emergency. I've helped out on occasion," Elsie reminded him. "I'd have cooked for us yesterday or today if we could have stopped by the market on the way here."

"I didn't want to presume," Charles told her. "What kind of romantic surprise would that have been; to invite you here and then put you to work?"

"Maybe next time we have a few days away from Downton, I'll prepare at least some of the meals."

"If you wish it, love, but it isn't necessary," Charles assured her.

"Are you afraid that I can't cook?"

"I'm afraid that you'll feel obligated to cook, but I didn't marry you so you could look after me," Charles insisted. "Quite the opposite, in fact."

"We're married, Charles, we look after each other," Elsie reminded him. "I won't prepare every meal but I'd like to cook sometimes. You seem to have a gift for breakfast, but I could try my hand at an omelet on occasion."

"We can take turns cooking until we've established the bed and breakfast. Then, we can hire someone," Charles suggested. "And when we retire, they can cook for us as well. Of course, we'll always be free to cook something for ourselves if we wish."

"I think that's an excellent idea. I just didn't want every meal we enjoy in our home to be reheated offerings from Downton."

"Agreed. The next time we have a few days off, we'll stock the larder and visit the green grocers," Charles promised.

"Good," Elsie was satisfied with their conclusion. "Now, if you are finished with your stew, help me with the dishes and tell me how it was you returned to Downton."

Charles rose and cleared the table quickly. "It wasn't my plan original to go back to Downton. Even though Lord Grantham had told me there was always a place for me there, I didn't want to take him up on his offer."

"Why not?" Elsie was filling a small pan with soapy water as Charles reached the sink where they stood shoulder to shoulder.

"I suppose I was embarrassed by my failure, but mostly, I didn't want to find out that the offer had not been genuine. What if they'd just been empty words? After what I'd just been through, I don't think I could have taken such rejection."

Elsie nodded in understanding as she washed the plate Charles had handed her. She handed it back to him for rinsing.

"I began looking for work in hotels and restaurants around London. I quickly learned that any job worth having would require a reference or a letter of introduction. Two weeks after my last performance with Grigg, money was running low. I either needed a job or I would have to take more money from what my father had left. I was not willing to do that, so I was forced to write to Mr. Brooks at Downton.

"I wrote to him asking only for a reference. I did not make any mention of returning to Downton, but when his reply came, it included an offer as well as a reference letter. He wrote that he understood if I was choosing to remain in London, but he assured me that the position of first footman was mine for the asking."

Elsie filled a kettle and placed in on a newly lit burner as Charles dried the last of the cutlery. Then they both sat down at the table as the waited for the kettle to boil. Charles took her hands and continued his story.

"I accepted his offer and spent the last of my money on a ticket to York."

-00-

 _It was late November. The chill mists of London seemed to cling to the train long after the city was left behind. The first class passengers had access to a heated parlor car, but third class was near freezing. Charles had two scarves wrapped around his neck; pulled high to cover his face and ears. Only the bridge of his nose and his soulful eyes were visible to anyone who bothered to glance his way. All his worldly possessions had been packed into a large suitcase which sat heavily in the rack over his head._

 _The barren landscape flashed by in muted greens and browns, but his eyes did not see. A book rested in his hands but he did not read it. His mind was occupied with other concerns. What was he going to say to them? Eighteen months ago he'd made a grand exit, riding the emotional high of beating the village team on the cricket pitch. Everyone had declared that he would take London by storm. He was destined to succeed, they'd all said. They'd all believed. They'd almost made him believe._

 _Would they laugh at his failure? Would they find out about his ignoble profession? What would he tell them he'd been doing? Charles knew better than to try and lie, but he could not tell them the truth._

 _He remembered Lord Grantham's words of encouragement and Lady Grantham's look of disappointment at his going. Would either of them be glad for his return or would they now both be disappointed in him?_

 _Even with these worries, Charles felt his spirits lift as the temperature beyond the train windows dropped. He'd been back and forth between Downton and London at least once a year since he was young yet he still marveled that such a journey could be completed in less than six hours. His anxiety became happy expectation as he became aware of the train crossing over the Trent. His anticipation heightened with each familiar name on the stations they passed. They were close now. Doncaster. Selby. And, finally, York._

 _Charles could not help but smile as he stepped into the cold air on the platform and heard the rich Yorkshire accent of the station master calling out connections. After the diverse accents of London, it was good to be surrounded by the warm, round tones of Yorkshire. Whether he was a success or a failure, Charles was a true Yorkshireman and it was good to be home._

 _Charles walked down the steps and approached the luggage car where the post and other goods were being unloaded. He asked around until he found a cart bound for Ripon. Charles negotiated a ride for the price of a pint and a half hour's labor unloading several crates of sundries._

 _It was just past four when Charles reached Downton's back door. The timing was far from ideal. He knew much of the staff would be having their tea in the servant's hall. Not wishing to be found loitering in the service courtyard, Charles knocked after only a brief pause to gather himself._

 _"Who could that be?" He heard Mrs. Curtis' voice coming from her sitting room. Apparently, Mr. Brooks had not informed her of Charles' imminent return._

 _A skinny young man slightly shorter than Charles answered the door. Charles did not recognize him, but he wore a footman's livery. This was likely the lad who'd been hired to replace him eighteen months ago. "Yes?" The man asked suspiciously. Charles frowned. This was not the proper way to answer a door to Downton Abbey; even the back door._

 _"My name is Charles Carson. I'm here to see Mr. Brooks," Charles answered professionally. "He's expecting me."_

 _"Charles Carson?" Mrs. Curtis burst out of her sitting room at the sound of his voice. "Good gracious! Mr. Brooks has something to answer for, not telling me you were coming." She pushed past the perturbed footman and drew Charles inside excitedly._

 _"I wasn't trying to surprise anyone," Charles told her by way of apology. "I don't know why he kept it a secret."_

 _"I didn't even know we were looking for a footman," Mrs. Curtis said, observing Charles' suitcase and surmising the truth. She dragged him down the hallway to the servant's hall as Exhibit A to present to Mr. Brooks. "Mr. Brooks, how do you explain this? Why was I not informed?"_

 _Mr. Brooks stood as Charles entered and the two men shook hands. Charles looked around the table and was astonished at the number of new faces he saw there. Downton was not known for such high turnover in staff. Also, there were fewer staff than usual. Charles divined immediately that things were not as he'd left them at Downton._

 _"I didn't tell you, Mrs. Curtis, because you cannot keep a secret to save your life," Mr. Brooks stated without malice. "Only His Lordship and I knew that Charles was coming."_

 _"How is it that you've gotten permission for another footman when I can't even get a new scullery maid?" Mrs. Rees demanded as she came stomping from the kitchen. She glared at Charles, but relaxed somewhat when she recognized him. "Oh, it's you."_

 _The cook returned to her kitchen without another word. Mrs. Curtis bit back a smile at the exchange. That welcome was practically a gushing hug, coming from the volatile Mrs. Rees. Charles didn't have many friends at Downton, but all the senior staff had respected his dedication to his work, even the cook._

 _"For those of you who do not know, this is Charles Carson. He was footman here almost two years ago and he has returned to us," Mr. Brooks introduced Charles to the assembled staff._

 _"We don't need another footman," the young man who'd opened the door protested._

 _"Thank you, Philip, but Mrs. Curtis and I are the judges of the staffing needs at Downton," Mr. Brooks reminded everyone with a glare. "Along with Lord and Lady Grantham, of course. For your information, due to Lady Rosamund's presentation, we will be entertaining more at Downton. Also, the young heir will be entering the social scene in the next few years. Mrs. Curtis and Mrs. Rees will be expanding their staff as needed."_

 _Mr. Brooks' words shut down any further discussion. Charles stood awkwardly for a moment before offering, "If you'll tell me which room I'll be in, I can take my things up. I can find livery and be ready for service tonight."_

 _"Put your case in my office and follow me, Charles," Mr. Brooks commanded. "Lord Grantham wished to see you as soon as you arrived."_

 _Philip was heard still grumbling as Mr. Brooks and Charles headed up the stairs and through the green baize door. Mr. Brooks opened the door to the library and announced Charles, who walked into the familiar room exuding more confidence than he felt. Lord Grantham was seated at his desk in the library. He rose and faced Charles who came to a stop at a respectable distance. The Earl looked thinner than Charles remembered, but not alarmingly so._

 _"Thank you, Brooks," Lord Grantham excused the butler who bowed and exited without another word._

 _The two men considered each other in silence. Both wondered how the last eighteen months had changed things between them. Charles knew it was not his place to speak first, but Lord Grantham seemed to be waiting for him to break the silence._

 _"I am most grateful, My Lord, for the opportunity to return to Downton," Charles said evenly._

 _"Did you not think I would honor my word?" The Earl frowned slightly._

 _"Of course not, My Lord, though I must confess myself humbled that I must avail myself of your charity."_

 _"Don't place too much significance in it."_

 _It was the footman's turn to frown._

 _"It isn't charity when it benefits the giver," Lord Grantham explained. "I didn't expect we would be seeing you again, Charles. Was London not what you expected?"_

 _"It was very much as I expected, My Lord," Charles answered. "That was the problem. I hope I've not disappointed you, but apparently, this is where I belong."_

 _"It is certainly not a disappointment, lad," Lord Grantham grinned warmly. "Has Mr. Brooks ordered that they kill the fatted calf downstairs?"_

 _"I wouldn't go that far, My Lord, but everyone has been most welcoming," Charles asserted._

 _"Are we to know what you've been up to all this time?" The Earl inquired. When Charles shuffled awkwardly, he added, "Or would you rather not say?"_

 _"I'd rather forget, My Lord. If I may."_

 _"Of course you may, lad," Lord Grantham granted. "Lady Grantham and Lady Rosamund will be very glad to learn of your return. I believe you have been missed."_

 _"That means a great deal to me, My Lord," Charles admitted._

 _"Will you be able to readjust to the rules of Downton after almost two years of freedom?" The Earl teased._

 _"My Lord, I once quoted Thoreau to you; 'Any fool can make a rule and any fool will follow him,'" Charles remembered. "My time away has taught me that I am a fool who prefers rules."_

 _"Then you've learned a great deal, Charles," Lord Grantham said kindly. "Every man is a fool in his own way. It is a rare man who knows it and an even rarer one who can admit it."_

 _Before Charles could reply, the door behind Charles opened and Lady Grantham entered. She took in the scene with one intelligent glance. Charles bowed to her but did not speak._

 _"My dear," she addressed her husband. "I was on my way to tell you about the most preposterous rumor our daughter just told me." She looked directly at Charles who refused to whither under her scrutiny._

 _"Did it have anything to do with a returning footman, my dear?" Lord Grantham offered._

 _"It so happens that it did," the Countess answered. She acknowledged Charles with an imperceptible nod of the head and a twitch of one corner of her mouth that could almost have been a smile had it lasted more than a split second._

 _Just then, Lady Rosamund glided into the room from the small library. "You see, mother," she declared triumphantly. "It wasn't idle gossip. Welcome back, Charles." She sat primly in a chair beside the fire._

 _"Thank you, milady," he responded formally. "May I offer my belated congratulations upon your presentation?"_

 _"Thank you, Charles," Rosamund replied airily. "It was a magical day and the Season was one ball after another. I truly can't understand why anyone would willingly return to Downton if they had the option of living in London."_

 _Seeing her parents' glare, Rosamund amended, "But, for our sake, I am glad you're back. Mr. Robert will be most pleased when I write him of your return."_

 _"We lost to the village chaps quite badly last year," Lord Grantham informed Charles. Lady Rosamund laughed and Lady Grantham scoffed. For some reason, this bit of mundane knowledge and the Family's reaction to it reassured Charles that he'd made the right decision to return. He was Home and his Family still wanted him._

-00-

A high pitched whine filled the kitchen. Charles released Elsie's hands and she jumped up to silence the whistling kettle.

TBC…

* * *

 **AN/ More story soon. But first...tea.**


	20. The Most Senior Junior

**AN/ Sorry for the delay in updating. Here's something to see you through the weekend. This chapter was born from several comments asking about Mrs. Patmore and wondering about Footman Charles.**

* * *

"I almost feel badly for teasing you all these years about being so attached to the Family," Elsie admitted as she removed the kettle from the fire and turned off the gas.

"Why's that?"

"I understand it better now," she smiled. "They obviously gave you the assurance and acceptance you needed after the debacle in London."

"You weren't to know," Charles shrugged. "I'm not even sure I could have put into words what it meant to me before now. I knew it felt good to be welcomed home. Knowing that I'd been missed told me that I was part of the Family's life, even if I wasn't actually part of the Family."

Elsie prepared the teapot while Charles continued reminiscing, "And there was the family downstairs as well."

"I know Mrs. Curtis was very fond of you," Elsie remembered as she carried a prepared tea tray back to the table. "And you seemed to respect Mr. Brooks."

Elsie set the tray on the table and was about to resume her seat when Charles gently tugged her hand, encouraging her to sit with him instead. Elsie tossed an arm around his neck and settled comfortably on her husband's lap. Their faces were close and their eyes were level. Oddly, this felt as intimate as their earlier lustful activities in front of the fire. Elsie felt a flush of emotion at this sudden closeness. She silently hoped there would never be a time when she would be immune to his proximity. A spark in his eye told her he was equally affected. Elsie gave Charles a quick kiss to the cheek to break the pleasant tension between them.

"Tell me about Mr. Brooks," she guided. Elsie understood that Charles was not used to speaking about himself so much and needed these gentle pushes.

"Mr. Brooks became butler at Downton when I was ten, just as my parents left the country. He came to Downton from a large estate in Cornwall that had been run to ruin by the new heir. Mr. Brooks was strict and not particularly warm, but he never scolded anyone unfairly. I realized later that he could even be encouraging in his own gruff way."

"You obviously learned a great deal from him," Elsie observed with a fond smile. She wondered if her husband realized that he'd just described himself the way Mr. Barrow or Daisy might.

"In many ways, he was more influential in my life than my own father," Charles agreed. "I certainly have walked in his footsteps more so than my father's."

Elsie saw Charles' face darken and moved swiftly to distract him from any regrets regarding his father. "And what about Mrs. Rees? I didn't know her for very long and I think she'd mellowed a good deal by that time. If Mrs. Patmore is to be believed, Mrs. Rees was quite the character in her day."

"Most of the staff would tell you that if you looked up Gorgon in the Encyclopedia Britannica, you'd find an etching of Mrs. Rees," Charles chuckled. "The kitchens were her domain. If you stepped foot in her kitchen, you'd better have a reason to be there. There was no socializing, no making your own tea, and absolutely no extra biscuits. She could be terrifying and she had a bite to match her bark, but she always looked out for her favorites, like Beryl and me."

Elsie laughed with him. ""I forget; was Mrs. Patmore already at Downton when you returned?"

Charles nodded. "She came to Downton after Mr. Brooks but before Mrs. Curtis. Mrs. Rees predated them both." Charles cast his thoughts back, doing the mental math. "Beryl must have arrived in the early seventies. I distinctly remember that Mrs. Curtis arrived while Lord and Lady Grantham were in Russia, which was 1874."

"How old was Beryl when she arrived?" Elsie asked eagerly. Mrs. Patmore had never revealed her true age to Elsie, despite persistent inquiries. She hadn't even been able to finagle it out of Beryl's sister, Kate, at Elsie's own hen night.

"I wish I could tell you, love, but I would only be guessing." Charles knew exactly why Elsie was asking and smiled at her mischievous intentions. "I assumed she was young when she first arrived, but that was because of her height. When she didn't grow any taller, I didn't know what to think. She seemed the same age for the first decade that I knew her. Of course, I didn't interact with her much due to Mrs. Rees' regime. I do know that she came in as a kitchen maid and not a scullery maid, if that helps."

"Not much, but thank you."

"Now that you mention it, I remember Beryl giving me quite a hard time right after I returned," Charles laughed.

-00-

 _"Well, well, look what the cat drug back," Beryl snapped when Charles bustled into the kitchen to pick up the savory course._

 _"Good to see you too, Beryl." Charles barely missed a step as he swept up the tray and exited the kitchen post haste. Charles knew better than to linger in Mrs. Rees' kitchen. He'd learned that lesson long ago and it was not one easily forgotten._

 _Throughout the evening, every time Charles entered the kitchen, Beryl turned up her nose and pointedly ignored him. Charles was baffled, but didn't have time to question her behavior at the moment. He planned to get to the bottom of it later. He'd known Beryl since he was fourteen or fifteen. They weren't what he'd have called friends, but they certainly hadn't been enemies._

 _Finally, after the family was settled in the library and the servant's dinner was being served, Charles overheard Beryl speaking to the kitchen staff. In fact, everyone overheard her. Her voice carried from the kitchen where the kitchen staff was sitting down to eat into the servant's hall where dinner was just winding down. "He thought he was too good for this place two year ago, but I guess he'll make do with Downton since he couldn't hack it in London."_

 _Charles' face turned red as every eye at the table turned to him. Beryl hadn't spoken a name, but it was no mystery to whom she was referring. The tension of the moment was broken when the bell rang for Lady Grantham's maid, but the atmosphere still lingered. Philip sniggered from his place further down the table than Charles. Slowly, Charles pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. When a hall boy rushed up to clear his place, Charles stopped him._

 _"I can clear my own place tonight, thank you," he said calmly. Taking his plate and utensils, Charles strode confidently into the kitchen._

 _"Good evening, ladies," he said jovially. Everyone but Mrs. Rees jumped at his voice. He set his dishes beside the sink and turned to the table where the kitchen staff were gathered. "I wanted to offer my compliments to the kitchen. May I say, Mrs. Rees, I have missed your cooking."_

 _"And Downton has missed your manners, Charles," the crotchety cook replied seriously. She gave Beryl a glare that would peel paint off the wall. "Haven't we, Beryl?"_

 _"Yes, Mrs. Rees," Beryl mumbled into her plate._

 _"Was there something you wanted to say to Charles?" Mrs. Rees prompted with raised eyebrows._

 _Beryl's voice was so low, no one heard it._

 _"What was that?" Mrs. Rees asked sharply enough to make the hall boys in the other room cringe._

 _"Welcome back, Charles," Beryl said with a disingenuous smile and a syrupy emphasis on 'Charles'._

 _"Thank you, Beryl," Charles replied without sarcasm or malice. He still wasn't sure why Beryl was so upset with him, but he was sure he hadn't improved her disposition towards him by landing her in hot water with Mrs. Rees._

 _It was a foregone conclusion that Beryl would one day be the cook at Downton. It was Charles' hope that he would someday be butler. It would never do for him to make an enemy of Beryl. Suddenly, Charles had a flash of an idea. "It so happens, I've brought you something from London…if you want it."_

 _The idea of a gift startled Beryl out of her fuming. "What is it?"_

 _"If you'll wait here, I shall fetch it from my room," Charles replied smoothly. He turned and walked calmly towards the stairs. He forced himself to take the stairs slowly rather than dash to his room. He had not expressly bought any gift for anyone while in London. Why should he? He'd never expected to return to Downton._

 _Charles had an idea of what he could give to Beryl, but he wasn't entirely sure he still had them. Charles had yet to unpack his belongings and he could barely remember packing his things in London. He knew that he'd thrown away most of what he'd accumulated in London, but he hoped he'd kept the items he thought Beryl might appreciate._

 _Charles reached his room where he closed the door behind him and sprang into action. Charles grabbed his case and popped it open before rummaging about for his books. He shook them out one by one until what he sought dropped out of his seldom opened copy of 'Barnaby Rudge'. Chuckling in triumph, Charles gathered the papers and tied them together quickly with a shoelace._

 _When Charles returned downstairs, the kitchen staff was exactly as he'd left them. He doubted any of them had taken so much as a bite of their dinner in the time he'd been gone. In the servant's hall, most of the remaining staff had gravitated towards the archway that led to the kitchens. Charles glanced briefly at them and then ignored them. Instead, he focused on Beryl. He handed her the small bundle._

 _"It's a collection of menus from some of London's best establishments. I sometimes had occasion to dine out and I made a point to get a menu at some of the finer restaurants and hotels. When I realized I would be returning to Downton, I decided to give them to you since I thought you might enjoy them."_

 _Charles held his breath as Beryl untied the string and began to peruse the small stack of papers. He hoped the gift was just thoughtful enough to appease her but not so thoughtful as to be misconstrued as a romantic gesture._

 _"Fenton's. The Clarendon. The Cavendish. Mivarts. Simpson's. Kettner's. Rules," she read impressive names. Then, she turned her eye to the dishes on the menus written in fine calligraphy. Her culinary curiosity thawed her heart and her antagonism melted away as she read down the menus. "We've made that. Made that. Never heard of that; it sounds terrible. Made that. Hmm, we should try this, Mrs. Rees."_

 _Mrs. Rees, who had been watching Charles closely, turned her gaze to the item Beryl indicated. "Indeed we should, Beryl. Lady Grantham loves lobster."_

 _Beryl smiled at Mrs. Rees and then remembered Charles waiting patiently. She looked up at him, abashed. "I'm sorry I was so rude, Charles. I suppose I was upset that I won't be the one who's been here longest anymore."_

 _Charles finally understood. Being the longest tenured of the junior staff carried a certain privilege. With Charles back, and unlikely to leave any time soon, Beryl felt she would have to relinquish her place as most senior of the juniors._

 _"You and I both have at least five years seniority over everyone else, Beryl. We should be allies. Perhaps we can claim joint seniority. It isn't as if I could order you to anything," Charles gave a small smile. "Mrs. Rees would have my head."_

 _"That I would," Mrs. Rees piped in. "Now get out of my kitchen, Charles. I don't run a halfway house for idle footmen and my staff is trying to eat their dinner."_

 _"Yes, Mrs. Rees," Charles bowed curtly and vacated his spot as quickly as possible._

 _Thus, Charles reestablished himself as the alpha male of the junior staff. No other servant would have dared walk into Mrs. Rees' kitchen so boldly. Even Mr. Whelan, the Lordship's valet, deferred to Charles on occasion._

 _More significantly, Charles had made his first friend in the junior staff since arriving at Downton sixteen years ago. Over the next week, Beryl made a special effort to be kind to Charles. For his part, when Beryl's lobster dish, inspired by the Simpson's menu, had impressed Lady Grantham, Charles made sure to pass the compliment along to Beryl as well as Mrs. Rees._

 _A few weeks after he'd returned, Charles caught Beryl in the courtyard enjoying a few rays of sunshine. He decided it was time to ask someone about the state of the house. He'd noticed little changes that had worried him. The standards hadn't exactly slipped, but there were small signs that all was not well.  
_

 _"They're predicting a hard winter," Charles said conversationally as he approached Beryl with his hands in his pockets. "Best soak up the sun while we can."_

 _"I hope it's not as hard as last winter," Beryl answered._

 _"I didn't think last year was particularly bad," Charles commented._

 _"Perhaps it wasn't bad in London, but times were tough here'bouts. Half the tenants lost their crops to flooding and quality produce were scarce all through the Riding," Beryl informed him._

 _"Did that have anything to do with the high staff turnover?" Charles inquired. "I hardly recognize anyone."_

 _"Half the staff were let go at the same time. They were caught working together to steal food; sometimes entire crates at a time, right off the supply carts," Beryl told him. "I caught one of the parlor maids myself stealing squash from the garden."_

 _"Were people actually starving?" Charles wondered. There was no other reason to steal food that he could think of.  
_

 _"No, but Downton was receiving the best produce available; Mrs. Rees insisted. Someone saw an opportunity to make money. They were selling the good produce to the locals for a hefty profit," Beryl explained. "After that, Mrs. Rees trusted no one but me to help her in the storeroom and Mrs. Curtis practically slept with the key under her pillow. Mr. Brooks and Mrs. Curtis had to clean house and fired everyone who had been caught. Some that weren't caught outright were encouraged to leave nonetheless. We were short-staffed most of the winter. It was chaos."_

 _Charles shook his head. He could not imagine having the audacity to steal and sell the estate food. It further explained why he'd been welcomed back so enthusiastically. All the senior staff knew they could trust him._

 _"But this year's harvest was better?" Charles asked. He hadn't heard any rumors of a bad harvest._

 _"It was better, but I don't think it was what people were hoping for. Mrs. Rees is already complaining about scarcities and the quality of what we're receiving."_

 _"What about the estate?"_

 _"What about it?"_

 _"How is the overall estate fairing? Is it sound?" Charles wanted to know. "Financially, I mean."  
_

 _"I have no idea, do I?" Beryl answered tetchily. She didn't want to think of Downton being financially unstable. This was where she intended to spend the rest of her career._

 _"No, I'm sorry," Charles apologized. He could ask Mr. Brooks about that later. "I was just curious. Well, enjoy the rest of your break. How much longer do you have?"_

 _"Another five minutes," Beryl smiled up into the rare sunny sky. "Mrs. Rees is meeting with Mrs. Curtis for at least another quarter of an hour."_

 _"I'll leave you to it then," Charles dismissed himself. The news of the food theft was disturbing to him. One thief on the staff was just a matter of chance, but the majority? Dishonest staff on that scale smacked of rats deserting a sinking ship. Was Downton in such dire straits? He was determined to find out the truth from Mr. Brooks and soon.  
_

 _TBC…_

* * *

 **AN/ I wasn't planning to spend much time at Downton before Elsie arrived, but people seemed interested, so I'll spend a few chapters on the topic before our Scottish housemaid arrives. Now that we've established his friendship with Beryl, I think we'll explore his relationship with the upstairs Family.  
**

 **PS, I kind of love Mrs. Rees. I like to think that she provided most of the downstairs sarcasm before Miss O'Brien arrived on the scene.**


	21. Land Rich but Cash Poor

_After dinner the next evening, Charles caught up with Mr. Brooks in his office. He knew he needed to approach the delicate subject of money with subtlety. "Why didn't you tell me about last winter?" Charles blurted out without preamble. Subtlety would never be his strongest suit._

 _"What about last winter?" Mr. Brooks asked innocently._

 _"I heard about the stolen food and sacking half the staff," Charles clarified._

 _"Would knowing have affected your decision to return?"_

 _"I might have asked for more money," Charles smirked but Mr. Brooks frowned down at his ledgers._

 _"Then we couldn't have afforded you, Charles."_

 _"Is money very tight?"_

 _"His Lordship does not discuss such things with me," Mr. Brooks said evenly. "I only know that I was asked to trim the staffing budget and I did so."_

 _"But you've witnessed an estate's collapse from the inside, Mr. Brooks," Charles reminded his superior. "Even if you do not know the exact situation, I value your opinion. I care about Downton and I worry about its future."_

 _"Don't worry about Downton, Charles. For now, she will stand," Mr. Brooks sighed. "His Lordship is taking measures to see to that. He understands that when times get rough, you surround yourself with two kinds of people; those who are loyal and those who are expendable. The former won't abandon you at the first sign of trouble. The latter will leave at the drop of a hat, but they are easily replaced when the trouble has passed."_

 _This was not a satisfactory answer. "Is there trouble ahead? I understand the farms struggled last year. Can the estate survive another such season? "_

 _"I can't begin to guess how many lean season's the Family accounts can weather. This year's harvest was adequate but last winter took its toll. The estate actually spent more in the village last winter than usual. Many of the merchants would have failed if we hadn't. It must have drastically impacted the capitol. As well as tightening the staff budget, Lord Grantham has had to delay his plans for a village hospital."_

-00-

"The news about the hospital told me exactly how strained money had become," Charles explained. "His Lordship was obsessed with creating a village hospital. It was his pet project."

"I'm glad he did establish it, but I've never understood why it was important to him," Elsie said. She stood to pour the brewed tea out into two cups. "The Family had their own fancy physician, I'm sure. Why did he care so much about the village?"

"For one, the Family didn't have a fancy physician. Well, they did have a London physician on retainer, but the Family never used him. They were more often seen to by Dr. Norton," Charles remembered. He accepted his tea from his wife and did not argue when she sat down in her own chair. Elsie scooted her chair around the end of the table so they were still close.

"Dr. Norton was the son of a tenant farmer on the estate. He and Lord Grantham had known each other from childhood. They had served together in the West Yorkshire Regiment in the Crimean War. Dr. Norton stayed in the army even after the war, and was part of the Indian campaigns. When he left the army, the good doctor returned to Downton to set up a practice at the invitation of Lord Grantham.

"Dr. Norton and his wife were frequent dinner guests at the house. Lord Grantham always wanted to hear about the latest articles in the medical journals. I witnessed many after dinner discussions of vaccinations and the progress of modern medicine. The statistics on infant mortality and childhood diseases interested His Lordship more than any other topic. Lord Grantham had lost several young siblings in their infancy. Though his mother had six children, in the end, he only had one surviving sister."

"Mr. James' mother?" Elsie surmised.

"Millicent," Charles confirmed. "Lord Grantham understood the importance of improving medical conditions in the county. A hospital would accomplish that and it would leave something behind that distinguished him from the previous Earls. It was to be his legacy.

"I knew only the most dire circumstances would deter Lord Grantham from his dream of a modern village hospital. The year I left, they'd finalized the selection of the property. The building and land was already promised to the village. They just lacked the money to equip the hospital properly and to establish an annuity for staffing and upkeep.

"It concerned me greatly to learn that the plans had been put off. I watched Lord Grantham more closely for signs of strain. I did find them; slight though they were. Naturally, Lady Grantham's demeanor betrayed nothing. I did not dare ask any more of the senior staff. I wouldn't get anything more out of Mr. Brooks. Mrs. Curtis would never spread rumor of hard times, even if they were true. Asking Mrs. Rees why the servants only eat meat three times a week would have been a suicide mission," Charles smiled wryly.

"I wasn't able to discover anything more about the situation until Mr. Robert returned for the winter holidays. Before I'd left, whenever he returned on holidays, it was customary for him to tell me all about his latest term at school while I unpacked his things. I wasn't sure he'd want to continue the practice after my absence, but the very first thing he did after greeting his parents was to request my help in settling back in."

Elsie could tell that Charles was proud, even these many years later, how the young heir had valued the footman's opinions. It was a respect that had grown stronger as both men's responsibilities had grown.

-00-

 _Mr. Robert told Charles all about the major happenings in his own life over the past two years while Charles played valet. The young heir had experienced another growth spurt during his last term and his suits would require tailoring. Charles had marked the pant cuffs and waist for the necessary adjustments on his school uniform pants. Robert pulled on his uniform jacket. It had grown a little tight across the chest._

 _"I think there's enough material to let out once more, but after that, you'll have to stop growing, sir," Charles said with a kind smirk._

 _Robert chuckled as he turned to change into his tweeds so Charles could mark the cuffs on them as well._

 _Finally, the topic turned to Charles himself. "Did London lose its luster, Charles?" Mr. Robert inquired kindly._

 _"You might say that, sir." Charles brushed and hung the young Viscount's school uniform over the end of the bed._

 _"I'm glad," Robert smiled, slipping on his tweed pants. "Downton hasn't been the same without you. I really don't know how Lord Grantham has managed without you to protect him from Mama's wit at dinner. Brooks is a fine fellow, but he's not much for conversation."_

 _"He's a very busy man," Charles defended his superior._

 _"Of course," Robert hurried to assure Charles. "And he's an excellent butler. I only meant that he isn't as…personable as you, Charles. The house has missed your spirit. I'm sure Father has."_

 _"Thank you for that, sir." Charles spent a little extra time arranging Robert's shoes in the wardrobe to hide the grateful emotions he felt._

 _"And the cricket team…"_

 _Just then, the door opened with a cursory knock and Lady Rosamund swept into the room. She flopped down across the bed and gave a dramatic sigh. "Thank goodness you're back, Robert. Downton is so dull. Did you bring me anything from London?"_

 _Robert rolled his eyes at his sister. She really only cared about two things; fashion and London. "I bought this for you at the station. It's the latest edition." He tossed a women's magazine to her. It was one of the magazines her mother forbade her to have delivered to the house. "I felt a fool buying it, I don't mind saying."_

 _"Thank you, Robbie!" Rosamund exclaimed, forgetting propriety and calling her brother by his nursery name as she accepted the gift. She opened the magazine eagerly and perused the pages. Rosamund sighed over the delicate gloves, the tiny waists, and the enormous hats. "Not that I'll ever own anything like this. Mother has cut my dress allowance in half."_

 _"That seems fitting, since you have twice what you need," Robert teased, knowing it would rile her up._

 _"How can you say that?" Rosamund pouted. "How am I to impress a fashionable husband if I look like a country bumpkin?"_

 _"You are a country bumpkin," Robert laughed. "Considering how much you like to shop, you ought to look for a rich husband first. You'll be fashionable enough for the both of you."_

 _"That's true," Rosamund said proudly._

 _"And please do so before you bankrupt the estate," Robert goaded._

 _"Very funny. It isn't my fault that the farms flooded last winter," Rosamund whined. "I don't see why I'm the only one who must suffer."_

 _"Don't be ridiculous, Rosie, you are not suffering," Robert said testily, using her nickname in return. "Your presentation alone could have broken the bank. Last year's woes affected others much more that it affected anyone in this household. Let's not discuss it now." He cast a quick eye in Charles' direction._

 _"It's only Charles," Rosamund scoffed. "He probably knows more about the estate's money matters than either of us."_

 _Charles shrugged noncommittally._

 _"I'm sure he knows more than you," Robert insisted, sounding a little hurt. "But I know plenty. Father has discussed things with me and he's going to take me to the lawyers the next time he's in London."_

 _"If you know so much, maybe you can convince Papa to reinstate my allowance," Rosamund huffed. "We aren't broke are we?"_

 _"It's not that easy," Robert tried to educate his sister. "Our wealth is in the estate, not cash."_

 _"What's the point of having money if you can't spend it?"_

 _"Your problem is that you spend all your money in London. The estate is meant to support the village, that's where we ought to be spending our capitol. Maybe if you spent any of your dress money in the village, he might give you more."_

 _"There isn't a decent milliner north of Highgate," Rosamund complained._

 _"Then I can't help you," Robert said in exasperation. "Now, if you don't mind, I have two more suits that I need fitted or I'll be wearing my tweeds to dinner and Mama will not be pleased."_

 _"Fine," Rosamund sighed with even more exasperation than her brother had managed. "I'll see you at dinner." With that, she flounced out of the room._

 _"I hope I don't have too many daughters," Robert gave a sigh of relief as soon as his sister left. "Girls are only a drain on the estate. You should have seen how much they spent on her presentation."_

 _"You may feel differently once you're a father, sir," Charles hid a smile as he added the tweed to the pile of clothing at the end of the bed. "At the very least, I wouldn't repeat that sentiment to Lady Grantham."_

 _"Certainly not," Robert shuddered at the thought before he burst into laughter. Charles allowed himself to smile now. "It really is so good to have you home, Charles. I hope you're back to stay."_

 _"I'm here at the discretion of Lord and Lady Grantham," Charles said humbly. "But I hope I will be welcome at Downton for many years."_

 _"Of course you shall be," the young Viscount exclaimed. "You'll be butler here someday, Charles. Many, many years from now, you and I shall run Downton together."_

 _"I look forward to that, sir. Provided it is many, many years from now."_

-00-

"Hearing the Viscount of Downton say that he wanted me to be his butler when he was Lord Grantham meant more to me than I care to admit," Charles confessed. "After that day, I'd have taken a bullet for him; for any of them."

Elsie nodded in appreciation. She finally understood the relationship between Charles and the Crawley family. Charles was a loyal by nature, but the Crawleys were a family that recognized loyalty and repaid it in kind. It was a perfect match of man and masters.

"So you stayed with them through the lean years," Elsie observed. "How lean did it get?"

"That first year wasn't bad, but there was a dry year followed by blight on the grain. Many tenants left without paying what they owed to the estate. Lord Grantham tried contracting the labor on these abandoned lots, but that was hard to do without capitol. The estate tried to shore up the village with spending, but without any farm income, there was very little to spend.

"Around this time, came the expense of Lady Rosamund's wedding. It was a boon to the local businesses, but effectively cleaned out the coffers. Luckily, Mr. Painswick was so enamored of Lady Rosamund that he didn't mind that her dowry consisted exclusively of her jewelry, most of which she'd inherited from Lady Grantham's mother. She would also receive some money upon Lord Grantham's death, but with the estate struggling, it wasn't likely to be much.

"On the positive side, I believe Lady Rosamund truly did love Mr. Painswick. I'm not sure she would have loved him as much if he were poor, but chances are she never would have spoken to him in the first place if he were poor."

"That sounds about right," Elsie commented wryly.

"After Lady Rosamund married, the staff was greatly reduced. Lord and Lady Grantham did not entertain much and Viscount Downton was traveling the continent after completing university. Due to his youth, he could travel without a valet without judgement. I know it weighed heavily on Lord Grantham, but the only way to keep the estate intact was for Mr. Robert to marry money; and lots of it.

"Lady Grantham wished for him to marry a titled lady, but many estates were in similar circumstances. Money and a title was a rare combination. Given the choice, Mr. Robert was encouraged to choose money."

TBC…

* * *

 **AN/ Next chapter: Meet the Levinsons!**


	22. An American Heiress

The tea was cold and, with the stove off, the kitchen was cooling. Charles saw Elsie give a small shudder and made up his mind.

"There is a perfectly serviceable fire in the library, love. We should return there to continue the story," he suggested.

"You won't be too distracted to continue?"

"If we lie down in front of the fire again, I might be," Charles admitted with a roguish grin. "We can take our chairs from here to sit by the fire.

Finding this arrangement to her liking, Elsie cleared the table and Charles picked up two of the chairs. They walked the short distance back to the still warm library. Pushing the pillow and blanket nest to one side with his foot, Charles placed the chairs before the fireplace side by side. He picked up one blanket and gestured for Elsie to sit. Charles added some wood to the fire before sitting down beside her and spreading the blanket over their knees. He put an arm around her and she settled comfortably against his side. The new logs caught fire and added their light and warmth to the room.

"When Mr. Robert completed his tour of the continent, Lord Grantham began the business of teaching his son all about the estate. There was much that he already knew, but there was even more that he needed to learn.

"These were quiet years. Mr. Brooks' prediction of hiring more staff proved unfounded. In fact, the exact opposite occurred. When staff left, they were not replaced. Our numbers dwindled. The Family did not attend the Season, though Lady Grantham would visit Lady Rosamund frequently. Grantham House was not opened for three years, its only residents were the mice and Mr. Utley, the caretaker.

"Though the estate was run frugally and the farms were by and large recovering from their hardships, the writing was on the wall. The costs of the previous years had taken their toll. Downton was not sustainable as a grand estate. There were discussions about selling property or jewelry or artwork, but both Lord Grantham and his heir rejected these options. Diminishing the estate in any way was perceived as failure. The more Mr. Robert knew about the estate's finances, the more clearly he saw his role defined."

-00-

 _"I didn't expect you to approve, Mama, but I hope to have your support nonetheless," Robert said over lunch one day. It was just Lord and Lady Grantham and Mr. Robert. Charles was overseeing the meal as it was Mr. Brooks' half day. The Family spoke freely amongst themselves, knowing it was safe to do so in front of Charles._

 _"I don't see why can't marry a nice, English girl," Lady Violet bemoaned._

 _"You know why, Mama," Robert reminded her. "If you could find me a British heiress, I would marry her to please you."_

 _"There is no such creature, Robert, and well you know it," his mother countered._

 _"That is precisely my point," Robert said, enjoying the rare triumph over his mother._

 _"But there must be someone with a title and an adequate dowry," Violet persisted, unable to give up hope, despite knowing better._

 _"No responsible peer can offer any significant of dowry in these trying times, my dear," Lord Grantham said calmly._

 _"Very well, but I will not associate with that matchmaker, the so-called 'Lady Paget'," Violet sneered. She had to concede the main point but insisted on defining the extent of her concession._

 _"She actually is Lady Paget," the Earl reminded his wife without looking up from his plate. "But I agree, we will not need her services. Will we, Robert?"_

 _"I think I can manage to meet an American heiress without too much trouble," Robert agreed. "Rosamund said the Season was overrun last year with these 'Dollar Princesses'. They'll be at every ball."_

 _"It's decided then," Lady Grantham frowned. "It will be refreshing to reopen Grantham House again. At least we shall not be expected to host a ball. Still, we shall have to have to host a few 'at homes' to keep up appearances."_

 _"I'll leave all that to you, my dear," Lord Grantham nodded to his wife._

 _The trio finished the course in silence. Charles cleared the plates and brought the pudding from the buffet. After the family were served, he resumed his position beside the buffet. Charles noticed Viscount Downton looking his way tentatively._

 _"You know, father, I shall need a proper valet for the Season," Robert said innocently. Both his parents stopped eating and looked up. Neither wanted to state the obvious; they could not afford to hire anyone new._

 _"You can take Whelan with you," Lord Grantham offered. "I'll only come to London for the end of the Season."_

 _"I wouldn't dream of depriving you of Whelan, father." Robert hid his horror at this suggestion admirably. Whelan was ancient and not at all suitable to serve a young Viscount out to find a bride. "I was thinking that Charles might help me. He'll already be in London as first footman."_

 _"Yes, but Charles already does the work of three men," Lord Grantham protested. "Brooks will never be able to spare him."_

 _"I wouldn't need too much help," the son argued. "But I must be able to say that I have a valet."_

 _"What do you think, Charles?" Lady Grantham asked. "Should you like to do the work of four men?"_

 _"I am gratified you think me so valuable, My Lady." Charles stepped out of his place out of her sight line to address the Countess. "I believe I could fulfill the duties of valet in addition to my other duties, but I would defer to Mr. Brooks' decision."_

 _"I'll take that as a 'yes'_ _," Lady Violet decreed. "_ _It's decided."_

-00-

"Almost the entire staff came to London to open Grantham House," Charles remembered. He rose briefly to add another log to the fire. "Even so, we were woefully understaffed. We were forced to borrow staff from Lady Rosamund whenever we entertained, though that was seldom.

"Mr. Brooks supported me serving as valet for the Viscount Downton and lightened my other workload considerably. Most nights I would sleep in a chair in the front hall the whole night through waiting for his return. Before retiring for a morning sleep, he'd tell me all about the event he'd attended and the brash American women from whom he must select his bride. According to him, the pickings were slim, to coin a phrase.

"The Season was well into July before he came home one morning in a pensive mood."

-00-

 _"Was it as bad as that, milord?" Charles asked as he accepted Robert's coat by the front door. "I'm very sorry. Lady Rosamund had such high hopes for Lady Meux's Ball."_

 _"Hm?" Robert responded when he realized Charles was speaking. His distracted nature alerted Charles that there was something afoot._

 _"How did you find the ball, sir?" Charles queried, taking a different tack. "Did you enjoy yourself?"_

 _Robert paused to think briefly before heading up the steps to his rooms. "Yes, I would say that I did, Charles."_

 _Charles followed dutifully, ready to hear Robert's account of the evening. Even before the enticement of Robert's odd behavior, Charles had anticipated this particular tale. Lady Meux was known for her lavish parties. She was also known for being just on the fringe of polite society and some of her guests were not the sort who would be seen at the finer balls. Lady Meux was not above receiving money in return for an invitation to her events._

 _Most mornings after a gathering, Charles was treated to an animated account of the previous night while he prepared Robert for bed. On this occasion, however, the young heir remained uncharacteristically tightlipped. Seeing the deplorable state of Robert's shoes, Charles knew he'd danced more than usual._

 _"What's her name?" Charles prompted, hoping to catch Robert off guard. It worked._

 _"Miss Cora Levinson of Cincinnati Ohio," Robert said, initially with a smile, but the smile quickly turned to a frown._

 _"Whatever is the matter, sir?" Charles asked with genuine concern._

 _"It seemed a simple thing, Charles, even a noble thing, to set out to marry a woman for the money to save Downton," Robert said pensively. "But it's quite another thing to meet her; to put a face to an abstract. I feel quite mercenary."_

 _"You've met many women with money this Season," Charles reminded Robert. "But this is the first to have made any impression on you. Miss Levinson must have some qualities besides her money which attracted you."_

 _"She's beautiful, for one," Robert admitted. "And gentle and soft-spoken. For an American, that is."_

 _"But…"_

 _"But I would not have asked her to dance if Rosamund hadn't informed me that Mr. Levinson is a dry goods millionaire from Ohio," Robert confessed._

 _"And she would not have accepted your offer to dance if you were not the Viscount Downton," Charles countered gently._

 _"What are you saying?" A startled Robert looked at his valet._

 _"You have a title but lack money. She has money but lacks a title. You want what she can offer you and she wants what you can offer her," Charles explained practically. He was wary of crossing the line of propriety, but Robert looked so sad and confused, he risked it. "Marriage in great families is often a business deal at heart. Your aunt Millicent married her own second cousin in order to consolidate the family wealth. I believe that's been a happy marriage. Even though a marriage does not begin as a true love match does not mean it must needs be a loveless marriage."_

 _"You think it is possible to build a successful marriage based upon such selfish motives?" Robert challenged._

 _"The arrangement is mutually beneficial, which is the best one can hope for in marriage, I should think," Charles insisted._

 _"How very romantic…" Robert scowled sarcastically."I don't know if I can do it, Charles."  
_

 _"You must follow your conscience."_

 _"What do you mean?"_

 _"If your conscience will not allow you to marry someone you could not possibly love…"_

 _"I didn't say that I couldn't love her," Robert interrupted. "It's only that I will feel guilty about how it all started if I pursue her further."_

 _"Which does you credit," Charles smiled benevolently at the younger man. "I wonder if any of the other men who danced with Miss Levinson have such scruples."_

 _"I didn't let many other men get the chance to dance with her," Robert proclaimed with a proud smirk._

 _"So you did enjoy her company?"_

 _"Very much," Robert admitted._

 _"And did she seem to enjoy yours?"_

 _"I think so. She was free to dance with other men if she'd chosen to, but she stayed with me."_

 _"So it is possible that the two of you might actually be a good match, despite the ignominious reasons behind your introduction?"_

 _"When you put it that way…" Robert blinked sleepily. "But we've only met once. Maybe she isn't the gentle soul she seems to be. Her mother is an absolute terror. What if she's more like her mother than she lets on?"_

 _"You know the solution to that," Charles reminded Robert._

 _"Invite Miss Levinson and her mother to Downton," Robert nodded. It was the next great step in courtship; separate your intended from the herd. Though money was tight, provisions had already been made to receive potential conquests at the castle. Several of their Yorkshire neighbors had promised Lady Grantham the use of their staff should the occasion for a house party or ball arise. It seemed the whole county was rooting for Robert's success in marriage. In many ways, they were relying on it._

 _"Show them the beauty of the English countryside and the grandeur of Downton."_

 _"Show them what they're buying, you mean," Robert quipped sardonically._

 _"You know how lady's maids talk, milord," Charles continued, ignoring Robert's comment. "Lady Rosamund's maid will sit directly next to Miss Levinson's girl at the servant's table. I warrant she'll glean Miss Levinson's true nature before pudding is served."_

 _"But that knife cuts both ways, Charles." Robert lay down on his satin sheets and yawned._

 _"You've nothing to fear on that front, sir," Charles assured him. It was unclear if the young man heard him, as Robert appeared to have already fallen fast asleep. Charles turned down the gas lamp to a low, flickering glow before quietly leaving the room._

-00-

"They met several more times in the next few weeks and the initial attraction between them grew. Confident that Miss Levinson was the girl for him, Mr. Robert asked Lady Grantham to extend an invitation. She did so most reluctantly.

"So it was, in early August of 1888, Miss Cora Levinson and Mrs. Martha Levinson visited Downton Abbey for the first time," Charles reminisced fondly. "It was to be aa event the likes of which Downton had not seen in decades. One day would feature a garden party and the very next day we would hold a grand ball. The whole county stepped up to help the Crawley's put their best foot forward. Mrs. Rees was in heaven. In addition to Beryl, she commanded four kitchen maids and two scullery maids. The Skeltons even lent us their pastry chef."

"And what did you think of the Americans?" Elsie asked with a grin. In her mind, she could just see young Charles barely concealing his contempt for the boisterous Martha Levinson.

"Both Miss and Mrs. Levinson were as advertised," Charles said diplomatically. "The daughter was as genteel as the mother was brash. They stayed for three nights. They brought a prodigious amount of baggage for such a brief stay. Mrs. Levinson made sure to point out that her daughter had a different Worth dress for each evening. It would have seemed like ostentation, except that Miss Levinson carried herself with a humble dignity and poise."

"So you thought her very pretty?" Elsie asked with a note of pique to her voice.

"It wasn't for me to judge," Charles shrugged. "She was prettier than most and taller. What I appreciated most was that she was better behaved than many of the other young ladies, American or English. I thought she would be a good match for Mr. Robert and I've been proven correct."

"Do you still think her beautiful?" Elsie tried to sound disinterested.

Charles was a little surprised at this question and at the streak of jealousy in his wife. Lady Grantham was considered beautiful by most of the county even to this day, but Elsie didn't want to hear that.

"There's no correct answer for this, is there?" Charles replied warily. "I've said it before, though I was a confirmed bachelor, I could still appreciate a fine figure and a pretty face…"

Elsie frowned slightly, feeling silly and yet unable to completely dismiss her baseless jealousy.

"…as evidenced by my choice of bride," Charles flattered.

"Well played, Mr. Carson." Elsie leaned up to kiss his scratchy cheek. She was completely placated by his obvious flattery. Her jealousy was as much about wishing she'd known Charles during this time as thinking he had any attraction to Lady Cora. Thus satisfied, Elsie was able to refocus on Charles' story. "I'm surprised that Lord Grantham felt guilty about marrying for money. The London Season has always been about finding the most eligible match."

"Yes, but one didn't say that publicly," Charles argued. "When the Season was just the English aristocracy, no matter how much it was discussed behind closed doors, everyone had the good taste not to speak openly about money or position. The American interlopers had no such compunction and the vulgarity began to seep into ballrooms all over London."

"And what did the Family make of the interlopers once they'd arrived at Downton?"

"You've seen Lady Violet and Mrs. Levinson together," Charles said with a knowing tilt of his head.

Elsie nodded her understanding with a laugh. Lady Violet and Mrs. Levinson clearly loathed each other. They were both outspoken and used to having the final word on any subject.

"Very little has changed between them in the intervening years. If anything, they were worse back when they first met. Lord Grantham was visibly upset by Mrs. Levinson's behavior and avoided her whenever possible, but he was quite taken by Miss Levinson."

"And what was the report from the servants?" Elsie wondered.

"Miss Levinson's maid was full of praise for her mistress. We did discover that it was Miss Levinson's wish to come to England. Both her parents opposed it, but her father could deny her nothing, so he agreed to let her come."

"That makes sense," Elsie agreed. "Mrs. Levinson never struck me as someone who appreciated British tradition enough to want her daughter to marry a title."

"It turns out Lady Cora was the Anglophile all along. She read Austen and the Bronte sisters extensively. Also, there was reportedly some unpleasantness in New York the previous winter which made her wish to avoid spending the summer at Newport. A small matter of a broken heart," Charles whispered this gossip as though they were not the only people in the house. "I gathered that climbing the ranks of society was even more difficult in New York than in London."

"I suppose the New York millionaires weren't impressed by money," Elsie surmised.

"Apparently, a New Yorker's definition of nouveau riche was 'anyone who made their money after I did'. The Levinson riches were too newly minted to appease the gatekeepers," Charles concluded.

"Poor Miss Levinson," Elsie sighed sarcastically. She did feel somewhat sorry for Cora, but then Elsie would not have minded having the misfortune of being young, beautiful and rich.

"The garden party went swimmingly and it was now the night of the ball. It was time for Mr. Robert to make up his mind. Miss and Mrs. Levinson were due to return to America in September. He must either commit to securing Miss Levinson, or he would have to start over with another young lady. He was still unsure of himself as he dressed for the ball."

-00-

 _"I recommend the diamond cufflinks for tonight, milord," Charles offered, holding the velvet lined box out for Robert's approval._

 _"Perhaps I should wear a tiara and gown," Robert grumbled. His moods had been very volatile since the Levinson's arrival at Downton. One minute he was laughing and jovial, but the next would find him tetchy and cross. "I don't like the idea of being decorated and paraded around for people's amusement as though I'm a young girl at my presentation ball."_

 _"I'm sorry that you feel that way, sir," Charles soothed. He ignored Robert's pout and secured the cufflinks swiftly before the Viscount could protest further. "Though if you did wear a tiara and gown, it might affect your chances with Miss Levinson."_

 _This elicited the desired smile from Robert. "Were you able to find out anything more about her time in New York, Charles?"_

 _"Unfortunately, her current maid was not with her last winter," Charles informed Robert. "Have you asked her directly?"_

 _"I inquired about the New York Season generally. She only said that she was happier in Old York than she'd ever been in New. I took the compliment and didn't press further."_

 _"I think that was wise," Charles approved._

 _"I don't suppose it really matters," Robert admitted, admiring himself in the mirror as Charles brushed his jacket._

 _"Have you made up your mind then?"_

 _"I believe I have. Tonight, I shall ask Miss Levinson for permission to visit her in America. I'll need to speak to her father before we can become formally engaged," Robert reckoned. "Fancy a trip to America, Charles?"_

 _TBC…_

* * *

 **AN/ I wish I could have updated sooner, but Real Life has been a bit topsy-turvy. Nothing bad, mind you, just first world problems;)**

 **Happy VERY belated birthday to super reviewer Libbybell!**

 **Sorry about the relative lack of Chelsie, but I think it's important to see Charles' involvement with the family. This is still a Chelsie story…stay tuned.**

 **More Levinsons next chapter. Elsie should debut in two chapters…at the latest…I hope.**

 **I received a guest review for Perpetual Motion…I have not forgotten that story. I've decided that PM is the Edith of my stories; the one that gets pushed to the back of the line, even though it deserves just as much attention as its sisters.**


	23. Stranger in a Strange Land

"Wait, you told Miss Sybbie that you've never been to America," Elsie recalled.

"I haven't been," Charles affirmed. "The plan for me to accompany Mr. Robert to America hit a snag; the Levinson ladies were not returning to America immediately. They were planning to spend another month or two touring the continent."

"That must have come as a shock to the hopeful suitor," Elsie observed.

"Indeed," Charles agreed. "He became quite flustered. Instead of discussing asking her father for her hand, he panicked and asked Miss Levinson if he could write to her while she was traveling. His disappointment was palpable, but he still wasn't ready to admit that he was falling in love with her."

"Men can be stubborn that way," Elsie observed sagely.

Charles opened his mouth to defend both Lord Grantham and himself, but realized that he had no defense and shut it immediately. He gave Elsie's hand a squeeze and smiled an apology before returning to his narrative.

"The Levinsons left for London the following morning. Two weeks later, they were in Rome. Mr. Robert wrote to her every other day. He would have written every day, but he didn't want to appear desperate.

"They toured Rome, Florence, Venice, Vienna, Munich, Berlin, Amsterdam and, finally, Paris. While they were in Amsterdam, Mr. Robert wrote to Mrs. Levinson to request the honor of escorting her and her daughter around Paris. He'd lived there for several months and promised to show them the sights off the beaten path."

"And she accepted his offer? That doesn't sound like Mrs. Levinson," Elsie noted.

"I think the fact that he asked her permission went a long way towards winning her over. He could have just shown up in Paris and pretended that he'd run into them by accident, but he didn't. He did the honorable thing by seeking her consent. Beneath her abrasive demeanor, I think Mrs. Levinson was like any mother who wants her daughter to marry a respectful and respectable man."

"Did you accompany him to Paris?"

"I did. It is the only time that I've left Britain."

"And?" Elsie was curious to hear Charles' opinion of 'foreigners' in their native land. She knew his general attitude towards the French was unfavorable. Indeed, the only nice thing she'd ever heard him say about the French had to do with their wine.

"Hôtel de Crillon was a majestic palace with over one hundred rooms, several dozen suites, and three restaurants." Charles' eyes sparkled at the mere memory of the splendor. "Even the location was unrivaled. It faced the Place de la Concorde, between the Champs Elysees and the Tuileries Gardens. If you crossed the Seine and walked west past des Invalides you could see the partially built Eiffel tower under construction."

"Did you have much free time to stroll along the Seine?" Elsie wondered, smiling at her husband's unexpected nostalgia for a location that was not Downton.

"Free time?" Charles looked at her as though she were mad. "I had a job to do."

"But surely Mr. Robert and the Levinsons didn't stay in the hotel all day," Elsie argued. "What did you do while they were out?"

"I worked," Charles said as if it were the most logical thing in the world. "I had to look after his laundry, polish his shoes, and lay out his clothes for the evening."

"I can't believe that took you all day," Elsie persisted. "Couldn't you have stepped out for an hour or two?"

"I had to be available if he should return to the hotel unexpectedly," Charles insisted. "It's not as though I was bored. When I was seeing to His Lordship's laundry, I often helped the hotel staff. Many of their guests were traveling 'sans valet'. They were extremely busy some days and grateful for my assistance."

"That was kind of you," Elsie observed skeptically. That didn't sound like the proper thing at all, but she wasn't quite sure. "Is that common practice for valets?"

"Not really," Charles admitted. "But Mr. Robert had an understanding with the hotel. Any extra help I could offer would result in a credit towards the final reckoning."

"He hired you out to save money on his bill?" Elsie exclaimed, appalled at yet another way the Family had imposed on Charles' loyal nature.

"I worked for Mr. Robert. My time was his to delegate. If I could stay busy and save the Family money, so much the better," Charles shrugged. "I learned a great deal on that trip, watching such a large scale operation. The greatest benefit came from the evenings when I was free to help in the restaurants."

Elsie rolled her eyes and shook her head, but remained silent. It was no use arguing with Charles to convince him that he had been unfairly used by Viscount Downton. He had clearly enjoyed his time in Paris.

"The first few nights, I was just a runner. I essentially performed the duties of a footman, bringing food out to tables or clearing plates in anticipation of the next course. One night, I observed that one table had ordered a very expensive and fashionable wine despite the fact it clashed with their menu. The wine steward had tried to gently dissuade them, but the gentleman would not be moved. He was determined to impress his dining companions. When the junior steward brought the wine up from the cellar I may have said something mildly derogatory."

"Mildly derogatory?" Elsie raised her eyebrows. "What did you say?"

"I may have observed that it wouldn't signify what they served as the patrons couldn't distinguish Smith Haut from Rothschild."

Elsie's confused look led Charles to elaborate. "Two Bordeaux wines; Smith Haut Lafitte, with two tees, and Chateau Lafite, with one tee, Rothschild. Both are well established, but they are in very different classes."

Elsie laughed at Charles' idea of an insult. Her man was certainly one of a kind. Charles chuckled along with her. He found that he could admit his eccentricities more easily now, knowing she loved him regardless.

"In any event, it caught the wine steward's attention. After service each night, the senior waiters and junior wine stewards would stay after and taste the unfinished wines. He invited me to join them that night. I think he wanted to expose me as a hypocrite. I'm sure he was convinced a valet from Yorkshire wouldn't know anything about French wine, but when I correctly identified a Château d'Yquem Sauterne I won him over," Charles smiled proudly. "After that, I served as another junior wine steward. I assisted him with uncorking, decanting and pouring the wines during dinner service. When things were slow, he would impart some of his vast oenological knowledge to me. It was an enlightening few weeks. I'd always been interested in wine, but this was when I realized that I had a gift for it."

Elsie was glad to hear that something positive had come from Mr. Robert hiring out his valet.

"Just before we left to return to England Mssr. Joubert took me to the corner of the wine cellar where they stored the oldest vintages. They actually had several bottles of the 1818 Chateau Lafitte and he let me hold a bottle of the 1798." Charles was overcome with emotion at the memory and had to stop.

"Charles," Elsie teased quietly. "Did you cry over a bottle of wine?"

"It was quite dusty in the cellar," he answered defensively.

"If you say so, love," Elsie accepted. "While you were receiving this education, I assume Mr. Robert was properly wooing Miss Levinson."

"However did you reckon that, Mrs. Carson? It's almost as if you know how the story ends," Charles joked. "Yes, after three weeks, he managed to get Miss Levinson on her own for a stroll along the river. I remember his excitement when he came back to his room that night, quite late."

-00-

 _"I've done it!" The exuberant Viscount burst through the door around one in the morning, startling Charles from his light sleep in the uncomfortable chair beside the large, plush bed._

 _"Sir?" Charles stood quickly._

 _"She has agreed to marry me! I've saved Downton!" Robert practically danced with glee. He yanked off his tie and collar and tossed them towards Charles merrily._

 _"Congratulations, sir. I'm so pleased that Miss Levinson has accepted your offer," Charles smiled with genuine relief and affection. His back was turned as he stored the collar and tie in their proper places. "Of course, any sensible young lady would have."_

 _Robert laughed heartily with the lighthearted frivolity of youth. Charles hadn't heard such a carefree sound from the young man in years. "I can always count on you to take my side, can't I, Charles?"_

 _"I hope so, sir." Charles turned back to the Robert and helped him out of his jacket. By the time the jacket was properly hung, Robert had removed his trousers, which he'd thrown over the chair Charles had just vacated. Robert now stood waiting with his arms out for Charles to remove his cufflinks._

 _In short order, the men worked in tandem to prepare Robert for bed, though Charles wondered if there would be any sleep for the high-spirited Viscount._

 _"Miss Levinson is really something, Charles," Robert gushed. "I must say, I find her American forthrightness quite refreshing, but she is also well-mannered and delicate. She is as refined as any English nobility of my acquaintance. Even Mama cannot object."_

 _Charles kept his opinion to the contrary to himself. "I am glad that you have found someone so worthy."_

 _"The next step is to meet her father." Robert disappeared into the ensuite still talking. "We've agreed that I should come to America this winter. She is confident I can win over her father, but it won't be immediate. He did not fully support her visit to Europe._

 _"Then, there will be several months planning the wedding; June at the earliest," Robert gurgled as he spoke around his toothbrush. "I was worried that she might want to be married in New York, but she claims that she would prefer to marry at Downton."_

 _Charles closed the wardrobe and put the last tidying touches on everything as he awaited Robert's return. The hotel maids had already turned down the bed many hours past. There was no reason for Charles to remain, except to receive any last minute instructions regarding tomorrow. He wanted to ask Robert if the proposal had been romantic, but he knew it was not his place. He wondered if Robert had finally admitted his feelings to himself and Miss Levinson._

 _Robert exited the bathroom with a bright, freshly washed face. Charles risked a personal observation. "You look happier than I've seen you in a long time, sir."_

 _"Love will do that, Charles," Robert replied absently as he climbed into bed._

 _"Love, sir?"_

 _Robert froze just before laying back onto his pillow. "Do you know, I think…No, I…not yet, but soon…I think…That is, neither of us has made any rash declarations of love …" Robert rambled almost to himself. "But when I proposed, I promised to devote myself to her happiness."_

 _"Did you mean it?" Charles asked gently._

 _Robert looked his valet and confidant directly in the eye. "I did."_

 _"Then I predict that you shall both be very happy," Charles gave his blessing. A giddy smile bloomed on Robert's face. He lay back and closed his eyes. Charles turned down the gaslight beside the bed._

 _"Wake me at eight, Charles," Robert ordered sleepily. "I must meet Miss Levinson and her mother for breakfast at nine." As excited as he'd been only moments before, Robert gave into the allure of crisp, cool sheets. His energy ebbed as he drifted towards restful sleep._

 _"Very good, sir." Charles turned down the gaslight by the door and left the young heir to his dreams of legacies and dynasties._

-00-

"Four days later Miss and Mrs. Levinson were on their way back to America and we were back at Downton," Charles recounted.

"You must have been welcomed home as the conquering heroes," Elsie speculated.

"As we said in the theatre, the reviews were mixed," Charles informed her. "Lord Grantham was pleased, though reservedly. Lady Grantham, who had given her blessing for the trip to Paris, was less delighted. For the next few weeks, she took every opportunity to regale her son with the comprehensive history of American inferiority starting with the settlement of Jamestown."

"I should think that was a topic you enjoyed," Elsie noted.

"I didn't disagree with her, but I felt the timing a bit insensitive," Charles admitted. "I would not cast aspersions, but I'm not sure all of her examples were historically accurate. In the end, her most fervent objections concerned Mrs. Levinson and not the daughter. In the end, she came around and showed her support in her own way."

"How was that?" Elsie asked doubtfully.

"She sold some of her jewels to finance the trip to America. They were recent pieces. She wouldn't have sold any heirlooms until the situation was desperate. Still, it was a sacrifice she offered to make and it saved them from pursuing other options."

"What were their other options?" Elsie wondered.

"They might have sold land or art or, worse still, they would have had to borrow money from the bank," Charles explained. "All of which would have been humiliating for Lord Grantham."

"Could they not afford to send you to America with Mr. Robert?" Elsie still couldn't understand why Charles hadn't made the trip.

"That was not the reason I didn't go," Charles told her seriously. "While I was in Paris, the house had been without a footman."

"Oh, I see," Elsie nodded. She knew what happened to a butler without footmen. She'd observed it firsthand during the war when Charles had worked himself into a state.

"They weren't entertaining much, and there were three hall boys, but there are simply some duties that can only be properly performed by a butler or a footman. Lord Grantham's valet was too old to be of any help, so it all fell to Mr. Brooks, who was over seventy years old at the time," Charles said sympathetically.

"He hadn't suffered any attack, but it was clear that my absence had affected his health. Mrs. Curtis cornered me practically the first moment of my return and made me promise that I would not accompany the Viscount to America," Charles recalled. "She didn't actually say that it would kill Mr. Brooks for me to be away for over two months, but she made herself quite clear."

"So, when Mr. Robert went to New York, you were left behind? Did it bother you?"

"Not really," Charles assured her. "I was sorry that I wouldn't be there to support him, but I trusted that he would prevail. Honestly, I didn't have much desire to endure a two week ocean voyage each way. The Channel crossing had been enough for me, thank you very much."

"When did he leave for America?" Elsie asked. "Their anniversary is in February, but you mentioned that they discussed marrying in the summer. What caused the delay?"

"The trip was postponed. A small wave of flu swept over Yorkshire that autumn. Nearly everyone in the house was affected in some way. It wasn't as deadly as the Russian flu which hit the next year, but it was enough to put all plans of travel on hold," Charles explained. "Mr. Robert was not able to leave for America until May. He'd missed the New York season, but that didn't signify. He wasn't going for the society; he only needed to speak man to man with Mr. Levinson. In order to do that, he'd have to travel to Cincinnati."

"I'm confused," Elsie interrupted. "Where did the Levinson's live; New York, Cincinnati or Newport?"

"They had homes in all three cities," Charles answered. "Mr. Levinson lived mainly in Cincinnati, which is where he conducted business. His wife and children lived with him except for during the two social high seasons. In winter, they were in New York. In the summer, they were part of Newport society. I gathered that this was common practice. The fathers sometimes joined their families for weekends or for special events like Christmas or the Fourth of July."

"So Mr. Robert went to Cincinnati without you?"

"Yes, and he also spent some time in Newport. Mrs. Levinson needed to show off her Viscount to her neighbors," Charles confirmed. "He was disappointed that I couldn't accompany him, but he understood. 'We must both do what is best for Downton', he told me the day before he left.

"When he returned, he assured me that I had not missed anything by not seeing Cincinnati," Charles chuckled softly. "I'd made good use of my time left behind at Downton. Besides taking on more of the butler duties in aid of Mr. Brooks, I asked Mr. Brooks to help me continue my wine education. He was pleased at my interest and shared his wine notation ledger with me. He even allowed me to accompany him to the wine merchant in York.

"The house wasn't buying much wine at the time, of course, but there was a wedding to plan for, so the merchants were very accommodating when we visited. Mr. Brooks' plan was to feature new wines weekly with dinner service. This allowed the family to sample a wide array of wines in an economical way.

"Overall, it was an exciting summer for me, even without the trip to America," Charles smiled. "We reorganized the cellar, since it was nearly empty. I started my own wine notebook and eventually, Mr. Brooks let me choose a few wines for the family. In fact, a Claret I chose was served at their wedding breakfast."

Elsie shook her head as she pondered his pride at this distinction. It was clear that Charles was good at his job and always had been, but now she understood something more. Pleasing the Crawleys was his way of belonging. These little things, choosing the wine or playing valet to the heir, were his way of participating in the Family that was his, but not his. There was something desperately lonely in his need to be a part of their lives, but Charles had never seen it that way and Elsie was content to leave it that way.

"Speaking of wine…" Elsie led. "Is it time for a sherry, do you think?"

She started to rise from her chair, but Charles held her back. "Not yet. Let's get through the wedding and a few children first," he insisted. "Sherry will just slow me down and we're so close to my favorite part...your arrival."

Elsie blushed at his flattery and settled back beside him. "Very well, Charles, continue."

TBC…

* * *

 **AN/ Things should be settling down soon, so I anticipate more regularity with the updates. Chelsie is on the horizon...**

 **Thanks for sticking with me. Your reviews, follows and favorites mean a great deal to me.**


	24. Introducing The Levinsons!

**AN/ Busy life; busy wife! Here's a nice long chapter to tide you over, though I hope it won't be so long before the next update. Mostly Levinson's here...**

* * *

Charles shifted his chair closer to Elsie's and put his arm over her shoulder. Elsie found it odd that Charles had postponed sherry, but she trusted it was for good reason. Truth be told, she was more interested in the story than in any wine at the moment.

"A telegram arrived in July from America announcing the formal engagement of the Viscount Downton to Miss Cora Levinson of Cincinnati," Charles recounted. "After a few back and forths, the big day was set for February 16th. The announcement was made in the Times and Downton came back to life. Though we hadn't realized it, the entire household had been holding our collective breath. With an engaged heir and the promise of fresh capital, a weight was lifted and we could all breathe easier.

"Mr. Robert returned in August. The Levinsons, all four of them, were due to arrive in December. Invitations began rolling in. During that autumn, Yorkshire nobility were falling over themselves wanting the distinction of playing host to the bride-to-be and her affluent family.

"The county families wanted to reestablish ties with the Granthams in anticipation of their revival. Lady Grantham was in Seventh Heaven. After keeping a low profile for several years due to the estate financial troubles, she was catapulted to the top of Northern society. She took great pleasure in rejecting invitations from anyone who had ever slighted her."

"I'm sure she did," Elsie snickered. Lady Violet could hold a grudge longer than anyone Elsie knew.

"She accepted presents from families competing for the coveted first visit," Charles continued. He did not use the word 'bribes', but Elsie understood what he meant. "Almost as valuable as hosting the Levinsons was an invitation to the balls at Downton leading up to the wedding."

"Balls? Plural?" Elsie confirmed. Charles nodded.

"This was an event on a scale no longer seen, save for a Royal wedding," Charles sighed. "There were to be three balls prior to the wedding and three after, including the Wedding breakfast and a reception in London."

"Goodness," Elsie exclaimed. "That is quite the event."

"In comparison, Lady Mary's wedding would be considered an elopement," Charles agreed.

"I hope they hired more staff."

"They hadn't the money to hire more permanent staff," Charles shook his head. "Mr. Brooks had to train some of the outdoor staff to help with serving. For pride's sake, we could not be seen borrowing staff from other houses for these balls."

"But didn't the engagement mean there was more money?"

"They still hadn't any cash," Charles explained. "Though the wedding was set, the dowry was not yet negotiated. That would have to be done at Downton between Lord Grantham and Mr. Levinson. Also, the dowry would not be paid until the marriage contract was signed.

"Preparations had to be handled delicately. Planning cost nothing, as you know, but there were some things that had to be purchased before the Levinson's arrival. Most of the local merchants trusted Lord Grantham enough to extend the estate some credit, which he reluctantly accepted. If the marriage had not occurred, Lord Grantham would have had to sell land to pay off the debts incurred." Charles shuddered at the thought even now.

"The month leading up to the Levinson's arrival was the most hectic of my life. It almost felt as though I was juggling again," Charles chuckled. "If I had more than three hours sleep at night, it was a rare blessing."

"How did Mr. Brooks fare during this time?" Elsie asked with genuine concern. If three weeks without a footman had so greatly affected the butler, what would months of high activity do?

"Mrs. Curtis and I shielded him as best we could without injuring his pride. It was agreed that any low level problems were brought to me first. I met with Mr. Brooks daily to go over the most important things, but he focused on keeping the books balanced and scheduling deliveries. It was hard work, but he could delegate from his office, which saved him from running up and down the stairs all day."

"That sounds like a good system. Perhaps you could learn to delegate more, Charles," Elsie suggested cautiously. "You do have two footmen and an under butler."

"The situations are completely different," Charles insisted. "Mr. Brooks was an old man."

"How much older was he then than you are now?" Elsie asked.

Charles thought about it but decided it wasn't worth calculating. "Older," Charles said dismissively. "And he was a very slight man. Not feeble, mind you, but slight. It's completely different," he repeated.

"Just promise me that if we have to oversee another wedding, you won't run yourself ragged," Elsie asked gently.

"I hope we do have at least one more wedding at Downton," Charles sighed wistfully. He would give almost anything to see Lady Mary happily settled. Alternately, Charles knew that it would be a relief to Lord Grantham to have Lady Edith suitably disposed of.

"Anyhow," he broke from his reverie. "Somehow we managed to survive until December. After all the preparations, it was almost a reprieve when the Levinsons finally arrived."

-00-

 _Charles felt the excitement in the staff build as the line of carriages appeared on the drive which led to Downton's front steps. The staff made an impressive display in front of the castle trying to ignore the intense cold. Mrs. Curtis had suggested that the staff display take place in the Great Hall due to the weather, but Lady Grantham had rejected this suggestion. It was imperative that Downton pull out all the stops for the rich in-laws. Lady Grantham wanted it to be clear who was superior to whom from the moment Mrs. Levinson arrived._

 _In response to her mandate, Mr. Brooks had slapped livery on any lad on the estate old enough to wipe his own nose. Charles only hoped none of the Levinsons looked too closely at the 'hall boy' on the end of the line. It was the lad who fed the dogs. He was only ten years old and he was so nervous he looked as if he might burst into tears at any moment. Charles had tried to teach him how to stand at attention without locking his knees, but Charles doubted the boy could remember the instructions. He looked as though he could barely remember his own name at the moment. Charles sent up a silent prayer that the lad would at least wait until after the Levinsons had already passed inside before he passed out._

 _The crunch of gravel sounded unusually crisp in the cold, winter air. The cart carrying the Levinson's luggage pulled briefly to a stop. Two women, obviously the Levinson's lady's maids, scrambled down from the front and waited. The luggage cart then continued turned towards the back of the house. The coachman expertly steered the carriage with the Levinsons inside in a graceful arch which brought the coach door exactly even with the castle's entrance. The horses' foggy breath rose in a cloud around their noses when they finally came to a halt. Light steam rose from their bodies in the frosty air. Several grooms rushed forward to hold the horses in place. The two lady's maids trotted up to stand beside the coach. Charles and Joshua, a hall boy newly elevated to footman, stepped to the carriage doors before the coaches had ceased their bouncing._

 _Mrs. Levinson was the first to descend, offering Charles her silk glove clad hand. The sleeve of her long sable fur coat brushed the back of his hand. Mr. Robert stepped confidently up to welcome her. He bowed slightly and offered his arm._

 _Next Mr. Levinson emerged. He waved off any assistance before gracefully alighting from the carriage to stand beside his wife. He wore an impeccably tailored wool coat with beaver fur lining the collar. He was surprisingly tall, Charles thought, though he couldn't say why he thought so._

 _Miss Levinson followed her father, looking radiant with excitement. Her eyes found her betrothed immediately and her face lit up joyfully. Her coat was a short, dark mink. The garment was sleek, elegant, and obviously expensive. Miss Levinson's deportment was more strikingly regal than her attire. Charles noted that the young woman had matured in the year since she'd visited Downton. There was a confidence to her which no doubt came from knowing that she would someday be Countess of this castle._

 _As she alit from the carriage, Miss Levinson tore her eyes from Mr. Robert and turned her smile on the footman holding her hand. "Hello, Charles, it's so good to see you again."_

 _"Welcome back to Downton, Miss Levinson," he replied professionally with a deferential bow of his head._

 _Miss Levinson moved to stand beside her father as the coach's final occupant tumbled inelegantly from inside. Harold Levinson was a petulant looking young man no older than thirteen. The scowl on his face told everyone that he was most displeased with this whole situation. He shuffled up to take his place with his family as Viscount Downton began the introductions, which were done quickly. The two lady's maids were introduced by their mistresses and took their place in the staff line._

 _"Should you require anything, Mr. Levinson, you will find Charles at your disposal," Lord Grantham offered, noticing that Mr. Levinson had not travelled with a valet. Mr. Robert had alerted his father that this might be the case._

 _After graciously greeting their guests, Lord and Lady Grantham suggested that the party move inside, out of the cold. Mr. Brooks and Charles followed the Crawleys and Levinsons through to the slightly warmer Great Hall. Before he entered the house, Charles instructed Joshua to pick up the kennel lad who had just fallen over. Mrs. Curtis shooed the rest of the staff around the back of the house where the luggage waited._

 _Charles and Mr. Brooks helped everyone out of their coats in the Great Hall. Mr. Levinson before Lord Grantham invited everyone into the sitting room for warm drinks before the roaring fire. Charles saw Mr. Robert take Miss Levinson's hand as they followed their families into the sitting room. All in all, things seemed to be going well. Charles sincerely hoped this would continue._

-00-

"What did you think of Mr. Levinson?" Elsie asked.

"He was not what I was expecting," Charles admitted. "He was tall, as I said; a lean man with delicate features. The similarities between Mr. Levinson and his daughter were striking, though one was masculine and the other feminine. They both had rich brown, almost black hair and piercing blue eyes, though Mr. Levinson's hair ran silver at his temples. They both towered over Mrs. Levinson. "

"What was his personality?" Elsie wondered. "I've never quite been able to imagine the man who would marry Mrs. Levinson."

Charles nodded in understanding. "I had thought he would be one of two things, henpecked or dismissive. I thought he would either be dominated by her or indifferent, but he was neither," Charles explained with mild astonishment in his voice. "He was a little shy, I suppose. He was soft-spoken and reluctant to join the conversations around him. He clearly preferred to let his wife take the social lead. Whenever Mrs. Levinson spoke, he listened to her with a fond smile, as if enjoying his wife's audacity."

"I suppose someone must," Elsie muttered. "Besides herself."

"It will surprise you to hear, but Mrs. Levinson was much changed in his presence," Charles contended. "She was much less combative, less openly derisive of what she considered our antiquated English traditions. There were a few times during tea and at dinner that night when I caught a glimpse of the Mrs. Levinson we knew, but one small word or look from her husband stopped the diatribe before it gained any momentum. It was the same throughout their visit. It wasn't as though she became a shrinking violet, but Mrs. Levinson was more thoughtful in her critical comments."

"They sound like a perfect match," Elsie observed. "She drew him into society and he tempered her abrasive personality."

"Exactly," Charles agreed. "And from my vantage as his valet, I could see over the next few months that the Levinsons appreciated how their personalities complimented each other. Away from the eyes of strangers, they conversed as equals and were very affectionate."

Elsie was surprised to hear this description of the Levinson marriage, but it did make sense if she thought about it. "It's little wonder then that Mrs. Levinson has no wish to remarry. She has money enough to be independent and she has the memories of a marriage full of love. She has nothing more to gain by marrying at this point in her life."

"Mmhmm," Charles agreed with a thoughtful expression.

"It must be nice not to have to think about money," Elsie chuckled with good-natured envy.

Charles didn't reply to her rhetorical comment, but sat silently beside her until Elsie prompted, "And what of young Mr. Levinson?"

"Harold?" Charles shook out of his momentary distraction. "He was a typical, spoiled young man. He wasted no time in letting everyone know all about anything that did not meet with his standards. Unfortunately for him, he made a grave mistake on his first night at Downton."

Charles smiled at the memory. "Apparently, he found dinner to be too rich and complained to his mother. Mrs. Levinson sent her maid down to the kitchen to give instruction that the young man's food was to be specially prepared."

"Oh, dear," Elsie snickered. She knew enough of Mrs. Rees to know that this criticism would not cause the cook to make any changes to Harold Levinson's benefit. "What did she do?"

"Mrs. Rees started setting aside specific portions for Harold. He was allocated the vegetables she'd rejected for everyone else, even the servant's table," Charles laughed. "She assigned the scullery maid to make his sides and sauces. The poor girl was a terrible cook to begin with, but Mrs. Rees made her cook everything without cream or salt."

"Or flavor," Elsie translated.

"Speaking of which, the worst part was the meat Mrs. Rees served him. She saved the meat from her stocks and served it to him after she'd boiled any flavor out of it."

"She never did!" Elsie exclaimed.

"And she contacted the cooks in the houses where the family were to dine and instructed them to do the same. She told them it was a special diet he was on," Charles laughed heartily as Elsie joined him.

When her giggles had subsided somewhat, Elsie managed, "No wonder he had such low expectations for English cuisine on his last visit."

"Yes, Mrs. Rees had him properly fooled. How else do you explain him poaching Ivy?"

Elsie laughed and slapped playfully at her husband. "Charles, be kind. Ivy was a very good cook. It wasn't her fault that Alfred and Jimmy acted like fools around her."

"If you say so," Charles deferred with a smile.

"So, Mr. Harold was miserable while his sister was the happy center of attention. I almost feel sorry for the lad," Elsie said kindly.

"Don't," Charles assured her. "With this new diet and all the walking in the countryside, young Mr. Levinson lost weight and grew taller and leaner during his brief stint in England. I think he grew in other ways as well; matured. He was slightly less peevish by the time he left."

"They sound like a happy family, all in all," Elsie commented.

"They were remarkably close, I'll grant that. Every night, Miss Levinson and her brother would come say good night to their parents. For some reason, they always congregated in his dressing room; sometimes while I was still there, which made me very uncomfortable."

"Did they speak freely in front of you?"

"They did. I remember one night in particular, less than a month after they'd arrived. Lord Grantham and Mr. Levinson were still negotiating the dowry and Harold had been in a particularly foul mood at dinner. He'd said something rather rude to Mr. Robert and Miss Levinson was livid."

-00-

 _"Daddy!" Miss Levinson cried as she burst into the room, her brother close on her heels. "Tell Harold he must be nice to Robert or you'll disown him."_

 _"Disown him?" Isidore asked, casting a smirk towards Charles who was collecting the night's laundry. "I'm not sure it will come to that. Will it, Harold?"_

 _"I don't see why it matters how I treat him," the young man argued. "I ain't the one marrying 'im."_

 _Hearing the commotion from the neighboring bedroom, Mrs. Levinson came in dressed for bed. Charles averted his eyes and lamented the fact that his exit was now blocked by all four Levinsons._

 _"What is it now, Cora?" Martha asked, immediately taking her son's side. Cora rolled her eyes towards her father as the familiar battle lines were drawn. Isidore patiently took the role as his daughter's champion._

 _"Nothing to fret over, my dear," he soothed his wife, taking her hand. "Our daughter is afraid that our outspoken son will frighten off her intended."_

 _"If he's frightened off by a cantankerous little boy, then she's better off without him." Martha gave her son a conspiratorial wink._

 _Harold laughed and nodded triumphantly. "Yeah, I'd be doing you a favor to scare off that pompous…"_

 _"You little imp," Cora grabbed Harold's ear and pinched._

 _"Ouch!" Harold spun out of her grasp and ran to his mother. Cora stuck her tongue out at her brother who returned the gesture._

 _"That's enough out of both of you," their father said quietly and firmly. Both children stilled at once. Their father was not a man of anger, neither was he a man to cross. "Harold, return to your room. You and I will go for a walk around the grounds tomorrow. We need to talk about how a young man must conduct himself when he is a guest in someone's home. I thought you already knew, but you seem to need reminding."_

 _Cora visibly restrained herself from gloating as her brother huffed out of the room muttering something about 'limey twits'._

 _Charles was still stuck in the corner, busying himself organizing Mr. Levinson's sock drawer so he missed his opportunity to escape._

 _"As for you, young lady, it is time we talked honestly about this Viscount of yours," Isidore frowned at Cora. "We are nearing a point of no return. Is he really what you want?"_

 _"Of course he is, what do you mean?" Cora was distressed to hear her father, her greatest ally, questioning Robert._

 _"Is he worth it, princess?" Isidore pressed. "His father is insisting on a queen's dowry. I'm sure I can find you a nobleman for less. Hell, on the continent, I could buy you a Baron for half the price."_

 _"This isn't some lot of goods you can haggle over, Daddy," Cora pouted. "Robert says they need the money to save the estate. His father isn't asking for anything more than they need."_

 _"And what's the point of marrying into the landed gentry if they have no land?" Martha interjected._

 _"The point is that I love him, Mama," Cora spun on her mother with a fury that surprised her parents. "Even without the estate, I would marry him."_

 _"But he won't marry you without the money," Isidore reminded his daughter gently. He didn't wish to hurt her, but it was a truth she must face.  
_

 _"Because he's loyal and wants to take care of his family," Cora defended her betrothed with tears in her eyes._

 _"Does he love you?" Martha asked in her cold, forthright manner._

 _"He will if I save his precious Downton," Cora insisted. "He's a good man and he does care for me. Right now, he just cares for his family more. Once we're married, I'll be part of that family, that legacy, and he'll learn to love me. I'm sure he'll be devoted to me as much as he is to Downton."_

 _Isidore was not pleased with this answer. He believed that his precious daughter deserved to be adored. It saddened him that she seemed content to marry a man who did not love her. Unable to look at his daughter, he noticed Charles trying unsuccessfully to make himself invisible. "Carson!"_

 _Charles glanced about. He briefly considered escaping through the window though they were at least thirty feet up. Sighing in resignation, Charles answered, "Yes, sir?"_

 _"Please be honest, do you think my daughter deluded?"_

 _"I cannot possible answer that question, sir," Charles stammered._

 _"You can't ask his opinion; he's biased," Martha argued. "How long have you known Viscount Downton, Charles?"_

 _"I remember the day he was born, Madam," Charles said evenly. "I was only a hall boy then." Charles remembered running fresh wood for the fires up the stairs through the night Lady Grantham lay in labor. He remembered carrying boiling pans of water up the back stairs in anticipation of the great event._

 _"You see!" Martha exploded. "He's bound to be loyal to the family. We can't trust his opinion."_

 _"You wouldn't lie to me, would you, Carson?" Mr. Levinson inquired._

 _"I should hope not, sir," Charles said honestly._

 _"But you would lie for Lord Grantham or any of his family, wouldn't you?" Martha accused._

 _"If my conscience allowed me," Charles admitted. "Or if they asked me to, but they would never ask that of me."_

 _The room lapsed into silence as everyone considered the impasse they had reached. Charles finally ventured to speak. "Mrs. Levinson is correct, sir, you should take anything I say with a grain of salt, but Miss Levinson is also correct. Mr. Robert is a good man who is devoted to his family. I honestly believe he will do everything in his power to make her happy."_

 _"You see?" Cora smiled triumphantly._

 _Martha frowned. "But he's only saying that because of his loyalty to the family."_

 _"Not all families inspire loyalty, my dear. It speaks well of the Crawleys that Carson is loyal to them after all this time," Mr. Levinson argued. He looked at his beaming daughter with obvious love. He hated to leave her behind in England, but it comforted him to know that she would be surrounded by a family served by such loyal servants._

 _Isidore sighed and chuckled. He was a cutthroat businessman about to make a poor bargain for love of his daughter. "Do you know, princess, I'm reminded of a passage from that silly novel you made me read."_

 _"I'll thank you not to call anything by Miss Austen silly, Daddy," Cora teased. She knew she'd won the argument. Her future was secured. She and Robert would be married. Downton would be saved. Robert would fall in love with her. "You know 'Pride and Prejudice' is dear to me. I must have read it a dozen times or more."_

 _"You always did want to be English; reading those Austen and Bronte novels none stop since you could read," Martha sighed. "I suppose you'll get your wish, as always. I only pray it will be everything you hope for."_

 _"He will be, Mama," Cora assured her. "I am glad you finally read my favorite book, Daddy."_

 _"I only read it because there was nothing else to do on the voyage over," Isidore joked back. "But I did rather like the father. What was it he said? 'You will do very well together. Your tempers are by no means unlike. You are each of you so complying, that nothing will ever be resolved on' so easy, that every servant will cheat you; and so generous that you will always exceed your income.'"_

 _Cora laughed to hear her father quote Mr. Bennet. "You've raised me better than that, Daddy. Your money won't be wasted."_

 _"I suppose I'll settle with Lord Grantham tomorrow. 'I was sure you could not be so beautiful for nothing,'" Mr. Levinson hugged his daughter tightly and whispered in her ear a quote from Mrs. Bennet followed by another near quote from Mr. Bennet. "I could not have parted with you, my dearest princess, to anyone less worthy."_

 _Cora kissed her father's cheek and then bid her mother goodnight. She floated out of the room on a cloud of joy. Charles was finally free to escape the small room and moved towards the door._

 _"Thank you for your input, Carson. I'm sorry we had to involve you in this little drama," Mr. Levinson apologized._

 _"Very good, sir, good night," Charles bowed and exited the room with smooth, long strides._

 _"Why do you call him 'Carson' when everyone else calls him 'Charles'?" Martha asked. Charles could not help himself from stopping just outside the closed door to listen to the answer._

 _"To everyone else, he is a footman, which means he would be 'Charles'," Isidore explained. "But he is my valet, which means he deserves the honor of being addressed as 'Mr. Carson' or just 'Carson'."_

 _Charles nodded with satisfaction at this answer. Maybe it is possible for Americans to learn the rules. Maybe some of those Yanks could flourish in English society. After seeing Miss Levinson defend her feelings for Mr. Robert, Charles hoped very much that she would prove to be one. He would do his best to help; for her own sake now, as well as for Mr. Robert's._

TBC…

* * *

 **AN/ I SWEAR, I am trying to get us to Chelsie...**

 **Next chapter...someone ALMOST as significant as Elsie enters Charles' life. If you must 'cast' Mr. Levinson, I'm picturing someone like David Strathairn. Picture him with a young Shirly Maclaine.  
**


	25. An Unexpected Offer

"Mr. Levinson and Lord Grantham settled the dowry the next evening over port and cigars. They emerged from the dining room laughing, with their arms over each others' shoulders. The slight tension that had existed between the two families evaporated in an instant," Charles smiled as he related this part of the story. "Believe it or not, after that Mr. Levinson and Lord Grantham got on like a house on fire. They were different in many ways, but they enjoyed debating politics and talking about business. Lord Grantham showed Mr. Levinson the estate ledgers and accepted his advice on some matters."

"I'm glad they got on so well, but it does surprise me. Was there never any mention of Mr. Levinson's…ethnicity?" Elsie had to ask. Recent events with Lord Sinderby made her wonder at the lack of drama over Mr. Levinson's Jewish heritage.

"It was discussed when Mr. Robert first mentioned Miss Levinson to his parents. Mr. Robert quickly explained that Mr. Levinson's children weren't considered Jewish. In fact, Mrs. Levinson and her children were devoutly Protestant. This appeased Lady Grantham's misgivings. I don't think Lord Grantham ever gave it a second thought; his only concern was for the money."

"So everyone finally gave their blessing to the marriage," Elsie smiled. "And the families got on famously after that?"

"Not exactly. Lady Grantham and Mrs. Levinson continued to have their run-ins, but they were relatively tame. There was only one time when a fight nearly boiled over to the point of rudeness. It didn't, but it was a quite a row."

"Oh? What was it they were fighting over?"

Charles blushed and bowed his head before admitting, "Me."

-00-

 _It was two nights before the grand event. The two families had just enjoyed a quiet meal and were sipping their apres dinner drinks. Young Mr. Levinson had been dismissed for the evening and had eagerly made his escape upstairs. The happy couple were chatting closely in the most private corner of the room. Mr. Levinson and Lord Grantham had just come through after finishing their cigars. Lady Grantham and Mrs. Levinson were in the middle of a conversation during which they both strained to remain civil._

 _"Of course you will be glad to return to New York," Lady Grantham said as amiably as she could._

 _"I'll be glad to be able to speak my mind again," Mrs. Levinson agreed, though the answer displeased Lady Grantham. "I'm tired of being on my best behavior."_

 _Lady Grantham arched an eyebrow at this information as if to say, 'This is your best behavior? I'd hate to see your worst.' She looked about for an ally and caught Charles' sympathetic eye as he returned from taking the gentlemen their drinks._

 _Two solid months of making polite conversation with this opinionated American was taking its toll on Her Ladyship's sanity. It was a popular topic amongst the staff, engendering much debate and more than a little wagering. Mr. Brooks and Mrs. Curtis discouraged such activity, but every evening, Charles found himself questioned by curious and invested parties. Charles did not participate in the wagering himself, but he was silently rooting for Her Ladyship to be able to maintain her composure until the Levinsons left for America._

 _"There are some things I shall miss about England, of course," Mrs. Levinson conceded. "My dear Cora being chief among them."_

 _"Of course," Lady Grantham nodded._

 _"And I must compliment your staff, Lady Violet. I can't find a butler in all of New York who meets my standards and here you have Mr. Brooks as well as Charles," Mrs. Levinson lamented. "It's rather selfish of you."_

 _"Selfish?" Lady Grantham demanded. There was a dangerous look on Her Ladyship's face. Charles sincerely hoped that he would not be drawn into the line of fire._

 _"To keep someone like Charles as a first footman when he should by all rights be a butler by now," Mrs. Levinson accused. Lady Grantham bristled at the idea, as did Charles himself._

 _"Butlers of great houses are seldom so young as Charles," Lady Violet informed her guest. "By the time Brooks is ready to retire, Charles will be properly trained and seasoned to take his place. Though we all hope that will be many years hence." Lady Grantham acknowledged the aged butler who was presently topping off her sherry._

 _"In America, we value people for their skills, not just their age. We don't make people wait unnecessarily for their desired positions to come vacant," Mrs. Levinson argued. "Charles could be butler in even the finest home in New York today if he wished it."_

 _"I don't doubt it," Lady Grantham said proudly._

 _"And yet, you keep him here, waiting at Brooks' pleasure," Mrs. Levinson pointed out. "That hardly seems fair to Charles."_

 _"We don't keep him here," Lady Grantham barked, quite offended now. "None of our servants are forced to stay, Mrs. Levinson. Charles is free to leave at any time if he is not satisfied to wait for the honor of serving as Downton's butler."_

 _"I'm glad to hear you say so," Mrs. Levinson smiled as she turned her face to Charles. "Well?"_

 _"Madam?" Charles responded in shock._

 _"What do you say to a change of scenery, Charles? We'll pay you three times what you earn here," Mrs. Levinson offered casually._

 _"Have you been courting my footman?" Lady Grantham demanded. "Of all the…Charles, I am heartily disappointed in you."_

 _"I assure you, this is the first I am hearing of this, Milady," Charles rushed to defend himself._

 _The gentlemen had been silent thus far, but Mr. Levinson saw the need to intervene. "Indeed, Lady Violet, this is a recent notion of my wife's. We've not approached Charles, nor were we planning to." He shot a warning look at this wife. Usually, this was sufficient to calm her, but Mrs. Levinson had a head of steam and a snoot full of whisky. She was not about to back down._

 _"We need something to take back with us to remind our neighbors that our daughter is an English lady and will someday be Countess of Grantham," Mrs. Levinson insisted._

 _"The position of Countess of Grantham is currently occupied," Lady Violet said angrily, drawing herself up tall to sit imperially. "And will be for some time."_

 _"I'm sure Mrs. Levinson did not mean to imply otherwise, my dear," Lord Grantham tried to quiet his wife but he was no more successful than his American counterpart._

 _"If you are looking for a souvenir of Britain to stand in your foyer, might I suggest a clock?"_

 _Charles fought hard to keep his countenance stoic as he nodded to Her Ladyship, grateful that she was acting as his champion._

 _"In fact," Lady Grantham continued, her voice gathering strength and sarcasm as she went. "There is a local artisan who still makes longcase clocks. He studied under George Littlewort. You can get them with the Big Ben Chimes if you like. I can provide you with his name if you wish. I'm sure Brooks has it some…"_

 _"Mama," Mr. Robert interrupted his mother's diatribe. "Please, I'm sure this is all a misunderstanding."_

 _The argument had reached a volume which had disturbed the young lovers. Mr. Robert wanted desperately to broker peace between his mother and his future mother-in-law._

 _"I'm sure they never intended to steal Charles away from us; as if they could," Robert rationalized._

 _Lady Violet's shoulders relaxed and she smiled magnanimously at a deflated Mrs. Levinson._

 _"No one is in a hurry for any changes of guard at Downton; upstairs or down," the young heir insisted. "Are they, Charles?"_

 _"Certainly not, sir. I've still much to learn from Mr. Brooks about being a butler worthy of Downton."_

 _"As for Cora and myself, for now, we'd rather focus on building our own little family. The title I look most forward to gaining is that of husband." This earned the Viscount a beatific smile of admiration from his fiancé._

 _With harmony thus restored, all parties agreed it was best to turn in for the night. Lady Rosamund and Mr. Marmaduke were due from London the next day and the wedding was the day following. The outspoken matriarchs managed to coexist relatively graciously for the remainder of Mrs. Levinson's stay, but it was a relief in many quarters when the wedding was over and Downton was once more the the exclusive domain of the Crawley family._

-00-

"If Mrs. Levinson had known anything about you, she would have known you'd never leave Downton," Elsie scoffed. "I hadn't known you a week before I saw it."

"She's not as observant as you and she didn't know anything about me," Charles confirmed. "Mr. Levinson knew better. He apologized that evening and told me he'd been trying to dissuade her for over a week."

"Did they go home with a clock?" Elsie asked with an impish grin.

"No, they bought some overlarge Pre-Raphaelite painting on their way back through London. Lady Cora received a letter from her brother describing it; he hated the thing."

Elsie chuckled. There seemed to be very little about England that Mr. Harold Levinson had enjoyed. No wonder it had taken him twenty odd years to return. He'd only returned then because he'd been forced to retreat from his own country by scandal.

"The wedding event was a success, I gather?"

"Very much so," Charles beamed. "The big day was a triumph for the entire village; the county even. The streets of Downton were filled with well-wishers for half a mile in every direction from the church. Young lads stood on the wall of what would soon be the hospital garden for a glimpse of the bride. Mothers held their babies up as the bridal carriage passed in hopes they'd remember the day.

"It was a celebration the likes of which the county has never seen again. In addition to the wedding breakfast at Downton for honored guests, the estate paid the bill at both the Grantham Arms and the Dog and Duck for the next three nights. Downton was the center of the universe for four glorious days. The green was overrun with farmers sleeping it off only to wake up and start again. One of our under gardeners disappeared and was found in Ripon a week later dressed like a groom in livery from another house and tied to a sheep wearing a veil."

"Goodness!" Elsie laughed. "Was there a first footman amongst the revelers?"

Charles gave her a sidelong glance and a cheeky grin. "I enjoyed my share of the libations, but I was also working, so it was a small share."

"You were able to steer clear of the livestock?"

"Well clear. That poor lad never lived down his humiliation," Charles said, shaking his head. "He wasn't sacked, but he found a new place of employment a few months later. It was probably for the best."

"Did the Levinsons stay long after the wedding?"

"No, Mr. Levinson had to return due to business obligations. They stayed for the London reception a week after the wedding, when Mr. Robert and Miss Levinson, that is Lady Cora, returned from their brief wedding trip."

"Where had they gone?"

"Mr. Robert had offered the south of France, but it was February, so that was nixed. Miss Levinson, that is Lady Cora, wanted to see a bit of England. They took a quick jaunt to visit Oxford, Stratford-upon-Avon and Bath. The following summer, they took a longer trip up to Scotland."

"Scotland? Though I approve, it's hardly the normal honeymoon destination," Elsie observed.

"You know how much His Lordship has always liked Scotland," Charles reminded her. "He'd fallen in love with it a few years prior, when he attended Lady Susan's marriage to the Earl of Newtonmore, as the Marquess Flintshire was then."

"Did they stay at Duneagle?"

"They did stop by for a few nights before they returned to Downton, but for the majority of the month they wanted something more private. They leased a little castle near Inverness; only fifteen rooms or so; Aldourie, it was called. It was without staff, so the head housemaid, new assistant cook, Lady Cora's maid and I went along to look after them. Downton's staff had been brought back up to proper numbers, so we were easily spared," Charles recalled. "It was a very restful month. I was really only needed to serve dinner, so I had the opportunity to wander quite a bit."

"What if they had needed you? Like in Paris?" Elsie teased.

"It was made abundantly clear when they did not need me. It was rather awkward to be in the house when I wasn't needed," Charles admitted, his ears growing a bit red.

"I can imagine," Elsie smiled that her husband could still blush over such matters.

"One day, Mr. Robert had hired a local guide to take him fishing. He decided at the last minute that he'd rather spend the day with Lady Cora. Mr. Robert suggested that I go in his place."

"I can't imagine you fishing," Elsie chuckled.

"Why not?" Charles asked, slightly affronted.

"It's a leisurely activity that requires patience," Elsie answered. "You're not very good at leisure or patience, love."

"I'm getting better," Charles pouted with playful petulance.

"Yes, you are," Elsie agreed. "But I still can't see it, you fishing on the banks of Loch Ness."

"I have proof. Where did you think I caught Trevor?"

Elsie thought for a bit before she realized to what he was referring. "The fish in your pantry?"

"Mmhmm."

"You named it Trevor?"

"Trevor the trout," Charles confirmed with mock gravity, as if he were announcing a titled lord. "His Lordship insisted on having it mounted for me. If anyone asked, I was to say that he caught it. He wanted proof that they'd left the castle during their stay."

"But they didn't?" Elsie smirked.

"Well, you know how newlyweds can be," Charles said with a flourish of his eyebrows. Elsie blushed beautifully but said nothing. "Nine months later found me serving coffee and whisky to the family in the wee hours of the morning as we helplessly awaited the blessed event. Lord and Lady Grantham stayed up the whole night with their son as Lady Cora labored. Lady Rosamund and Mr. Marmaduke were down from London, but had not kept vigil."

TBC...

* * *

 **AN/ The next chapter will post almost immediately...it just needed to be broken up.**

 **Quick shout out to a guest reviewer 'suzie' who wondered if Mr. Levinson's Jewish background was ever considered an impediment. It was something I had considered before, but had not planned to include. I just skimmed it here, but I think once the family accepted that Robert would have to marry an American, they probably considered that rock bottom. American or Jewish American, they were both inferior to British nobility. [Kind of like Robert being just as offended that Jack Ross was a singer than that he was black.]**


	26. The Blessed Lady Mary

**AN/ Two chapters posted within a few hours hour of each other. Make sure you read Chapter 25th also. Hint: If Robert and Cora aren't married yet, you haven't read 25 yet.  
**

* * *

 _"The doctor hasn't given us an update in ages," Mr. Robert worried. "Do you think everything is alright?"_

 _"I'm sure everything is fine, son," Lord Grantham reassured in an exhausted voice. "It probably just means that he is very busy and the birth is imminent. Be patient. At least sit down. You're making me dizzy with your pacing."_

 _"I suppose you weren't at all nervous for me when the children were born," Lady Grantham scolded her husband, but not unkindly._

 _"Of course I was nervous," Lord Grantham answered practically. "Our good country doctor still believed in leeches when Rosamund was born. Dr. Clarkson was educated in Edinburgh and medical science has changed significantly in the intervening years, thank the Lord."_

 _"But I doubt birth has changed much in the fundamentals," Lady Grantham commented. She'd never understood why men made such a production of staying up during their child's birth. What did they expect to do? Their part was done. Though Lady Grantham was excited at the prospect of a grandchild, she'd have been content to be informed of the arrival when her maid brought her breakfast tray. She had only stayed up tonight to support her son and husband. "All will be well, Robert. Have a drink to calm your nerves and do, please, sit down."_

 _Frowning, Lady Violet watched Lord Grantham try to get comfortable on the settee. She caught Charles watching him with similar concern etched on his face. They exchanged sympathetic nods before Charles moved in with an extra pillow for His Lordship. Though no one wished to say it, the fact was Lord Grantham's health was deteriorating at an alarming rate of late. Lady Grantham worried that the late night might affect Lord Grantham's increasingly fragile health._

 _After Charles had fluffed the pillows and seen that Lord Grantham was as comfortable as possible, he took up the tray and headed off to the kitchen to fetch more fresh coffee and sandwiches. By the time he'd returned Dr. Clarkson was speaking to the family._

 _"…both mother and baby are resting comfortably now. Nurse is with them at present, but you may go up whenever you wish."_

 _"A daughter?" The dazed father smiled proudly to no one in particular. "I have a daughter."_

 _Though he'd been as silent as possible, the others realized that Charles was in the room as he set his tray down. Mr. Robert's unfocused eyes focused on Charles and his impossibly large smile grew even larger._

 _"What do you think of that, Charles?"_

 _"As the saying goes, 'A son is a son till he takes him a wife, but a daughter is a daughter all of her life.' I'm very happy for you, sir, and for Lady Cora."_

 _"Thank you, Charles. I think I should go meet my daughter," the new papa said, nearly choking on his emotions. He hurried out of the room and the others could hear him taking the main stairs two at a time in his haste to see his wife and child._

 _"Shall I inform Mr. Brooks?" Charles offered._

 _"Yes," Lord Grantham agreed. "Tell him to inform the staff and remind him to put the champagne on ice for this evening's celebration. We will all toast the newest Crawley Lady together in the Grand Hall before dinner."_

 _"Very good, sir," Charles bowed slightly and started to leave. Charles found the old butler napping in his pantry. Apparently, he'd woken early and come downstairs to await any news._

 _"I shall make the announcement at breakfast," Mr. Brooks gleefully declared. "You should get some rest, Charles. You've been on your feet all night."_

 _"I feel fine, Mr. Brooks," Charles insisted. He felt too invigorated by the exciting event to sleep. "Is there anything more I can do?"_

 _"You do look as fresh as a daisy," Mr. Brooks acknowledged with a small laugh, as if remembering the days when a long night would not have affected him one bit. "But you still need your rest. I'll have Ryan handle the champagne, but there is one small thing you can do on your way to bed."_

 _Mr. Brooks picked up two items from his desk. "Since you offered, please take these up for Dr. Clarkson. They're courtesy of His Lordship."_

 _Charles accepted the bottle of whisky and box of cigars from Mr. Brooks and nodded crisply. "Yes, Mr. Brooks."_

 _When he reached the landing outside Lady Cora's bedroom, Charles was unsure of his next step. He would not dream of disturbing the family within, so he hovered in the hallway, hoping the doctor would soon emerge. As he waited, he could hear the voices of parents and grandparents fussing over the child._

 _The sound of a step behind him caused Charles to turn to see Dr. Clarkson approaching. "It's amazing," Charles said quietly._

 _"Every birth is its own, unique miracle," Dr. Clarkson mused philosophically in his distinctive brogue. The doctor had been in the village less than a year, brought in when the hospital endowment was finalized. Charles knew very little of the man. He was only slightly younger than Charles, had a young wife and was quickly winning over the residents of Downton with his straightforward nature and natural Northern charm._

 _"Do you ever become accustomed to it? To bringing a life into the world?" Charles asked before his usual sense of propriety could stop him from such a personal question._

 _"I'd say the mothers do the lion's share of the work," the doctor smiled. "But no; I never grow tired of hearing a baby's first cry. Comparatively, the rest of my job is much less satisfying."_

 _Charles nodded his understanding. Neither man wanted to speak of illness or death in this happy hour, but it was the natural antithesis of birth. It was strange, Charles thought. Between the two of them, the servant and the doctor, they would look after the family at Downton for many years to come. The doctor would attend the Crawley family during births, illnesses and passings. Charles would attend them all the moments in between. Both were heady and thankless responsibilities._

 _"His Lordship wishes you to have these, Doctor, as a token of his gratitude and he hopes you will toast to his granddaughter's good health."_

 _"Thank you, that's very generous of him," Dr. Clarkson replied. "I hope His Lordship may have many grandchildren." He accepted the offered gifts and slipped them into his case._

 _"I shall have to save these cigars for my own happy event," the doctor said with a wink._

 _"Is Mrs. Clarkson expecting?" This was the first Charles had heard of it. Mrs. Curtis was losing her touch if she'd missed this morsel of gossip._

 _"It's early days, but it looks like I'll have my own wee miracle to celebrate very soon."_

 _"Congratulations, Doctor."_

 _"Thank you, but please keep it to yourself. Mrs. Clarkson would be livid if she knew I'd told anyone."_

 _"Your secret is safe with me," Charles assured the obviously excited Scotsman._

 _Just then, the bedroom door opened. Lord and Lady Grantham emerged, looking tired but proud. "She looks like Rosamund already," Lord Grantham said to his wife before he saw the two men in the hallway._

 _"She's a serious little thing," Lady Grantham added. "She's going to be a challenge to us all, Charles, mark my words. A woman can tell." The broad smile on the new grandmother's face told Charles that this was a compliment of the highest magnitude._

 _Behind them, the 'little thing' in question gave a small bark of displeasure. Lady Cora's laughter sparkled at the sound. "She doesn't want to go to sleep, Robert. See how she's fighting it?" Her voice sounded loving, indulgent, and weary._

 _"But you must get your sleep, my dear," Mr. Robert speaking in a sing song voice for the benefit of his daughter. Charles could see through the cracked door that the new father was walking about the room, rocking the wee bairn. The nurse stood nearby, watching nervously. "We'll take her away for a bit so you can rest."_

 _"But I don't want to…" A long pause, no doubt caused by a yawn, interrupted her thought. "…sleep. I just want to hold her."_

 _"Let me see if I can get her to sleep first. I'll take her for a quick walk and bring her right back," Mr. Robert suggested._

 _"Don't take her too far," Lady Cora begged, but her voice already sounded slurred with sleep._

 _Mr. Robert walked to the door and found the group gathered there. His eyes were overflowing with tears of joy, amazement, and love. "Isn't she beautiful, Charles?"_

 _"She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, sir," Charles answered honestly. The red-faced, fussing child stopped her fussing almost at once._

 _"I think she knows your voice," Mr. Robert laughed, astonished at his daughter's obvious genius._

 _"Is that even possible?" Charles asked, flustered at the thought._

 _"It is," Dr. Clarkson chimed in. "We know children can hear in the womb. Some doctors recommend putting a ticking clock close to the crib to simulate the mother's heartbeat. It's very possible that she would have heard a deep voice like Charles'. "_

 _"Say something else, Charles," Mr. Robert insisted, almost shoving the child at Charles. "We need her to sleep and she likes your voice."_

 _Charles reluctantly took the tiny child into his arms. "Hello," he said quietly, drawing out the word as long as he could. The girl blinked up at him with dark and curious eyes. "Welcome to Downton, milady," he spoke softly and slowly._

 _Almost at once, the child's eyelids grew heavy, and yet still she fought to stay awake, as if worried she might miss something important or that she might wake up back in the darkness._

 _"You've had a very big day," Charles continued as Mr. Robert nodded his encouragement. "The first of many big days, I've no doubt. What's her name?" This last was directed at Mr. Robert.  
_

 _"Oh, how rude of me," Viscount Downton said formally. "Charles Carson, may I present Lady Mary Crawley."_

 _"It's a pleasure to meet you, Lady Mary," Charles smiled down at the newest member of the Family. He was mesmerized by her long, delicate lashes. "My name is Charles. I'm first footman here at Downton. If there is ever anything that you need, do not hesitate to ask."_

 _The little Lady yawned bigger than anything that size had any right to yawn, blinked twice, closed her eyes, and slept. Charles immediately handed her back to her father who smiled gratefully and hurried back to Lady Cora._

 _"Fancy a job as a nanny, Charles?" Lady Grantham quipped as the door to the bedroom closed, but Charles had not heard her. "Charles?"_

 _"Hmm? What's that, My Lady?" Charles shook himself out of the spell that had settled over him._

 _"Never mind," Lord Grantham chuckled. "I think we're all due a bit of sleep, don't you, Doctor?"_

 _"I think that's well advised," Dr. Clarkson agreed. "I'll leave the nurse with you for now and call back this evening to check on mother and baby."_

 _Lord and Lady Grantham moved away towards their rooms, Lord Grantham leaning heavily on his wife's arm. Charles walked Dr. Clarkson down the stairs and opened the front door. On the front drive, a groom waited with the doctor's horse and cart. Mr. Brooks must have sent for it after sending Charles upstairs. Charles marveled at the butler's powers of anticipation. Yes, he still had much to learn from the old man._

 _After seeing the doctor off, Charles all but stumbled behind the green baize door, up the back stairs, and into his room. Knowing he would be granted less than four hours sleep, Charles did not bother to undress, but only took a moment to remove his collar and kick off his shoes._

 _He fell asleep almost immediately. As he drifted off, he saw a pair of dark eyes behind soft lashes. They looked at him expectantly; imploringly. He couldn't explain it, but he felt as if the burdens of his job had grown simultaneously heavier and lighter in an instant. It would be many years before he could identify what he felt that day as love; paternal love._

-00-

"It's a wonder there was enough of your heart left to love me," Elsie pouted playfully.

"Familial love and romantic love are completely different things, my dear," Charles assured her with a kiss to the temple. "The two are not mutually exclusive."

"There was a time when I wasn't so sure of that," Elsie argued, not quite as jovially as before.

"I hope you're certain of it now," Charles said, gently lifting his wife's chin with a single finger. He kissed her softly but emphatically on the lips. "However dear to me Lady Mary will always be, you are the first woman in my heart. You have been for longer than you could know, my lovely Mrs. Carson."

"I may need occasional reminding, Mr. Carson," Elsie countered. She bumped his nose teasingly with her own, but then she grew serious and withdrew from him.

"What's wrong, love?"

"I was only wondering what happened to Mrs. Clarkson. I never met her, but I know Dr. Clarkson hasn't any children."

"It sometimes seems that God has a cruel sense of irony," Charles sighed. "It was a sad business. Mrs. Clarkson's child was stillborn. She died a few days later, of infection they said. Some said it was of a broken heart."

"He must have been devastated," Elsie said sympathetically.

"He took a leave of absence, but was back for Lady Edith's birth the next year."

"Poor man," Elsie shook her head sadly. They sat in silence until Elsie asked a question she'd always wanted to ask. "Why do you think you didn't feel about Lady Edith the way you did about Lady Mary?"

"Lady Edith was a colicky baby who would only let Lady Cora, Lady Violet or Mr. Robert hold her," Charles shrugged. He'd never given it much thought. He was embarrassed to admit that he rarely gave Lady Edith much thought. It was a short-coming he promised himself he would remedy. "Also, His Lordship's health was deteriorating. He suffered several small attacks over the course of several months before he died quietly in his sleep one night when Lady Mary was three and Lady Edith two.

"Mr. Brooks was almost as inconsolable as the Dowager Countess. He moved to the Dower house to serve as Lady Violet's butler, but his own health failed and he died less than four months after His Lord Grantham."

Elsie held Charles' hand firmly, letting him grieve again for both his mentor and his first master.

"When he handed off Downton's keys to me, Mr. Brooks also gave me The Book."

"The Book?"

"Every great house has a Butler's Book. Downton's Butler's Book dates back to the seventeenth century. Of course, the original is illegible now, but one butler took it upon himself to recopy it just over one hundred years ago." Charles' eyes glistened with emotion.

"It's a remarkable tome. That book holds all the secrets of Downton, from hidden drawers in the attics to how the second Earl preferred his tea. The origins of every dish, goblet and salt cellar that were ever part of the estate can be found in those pages. There's even an entire section dedicated to the dogs of the various Earls."

"How is it that I've never seen this book?" Elsie wondered.

"Each butler must swear an oath to protect the book and keep its contents secret. He must sign his name below the oath in the front of the book. Each entry is also signed by the butler who added it."

"But I've seen your Butler Book, the one you make notations in," Elsie pointed out, confused.

"I have my own book, it's true. I'm not sure I can entrust the entire book to Mr. Barrow, so I've started a new book that I can pass along to him, should the time come. Everything in my smaller book is also in the larger book."

"Where is this book? Is it hidden?"

"It is, but I cannot divulge its whereabouts to anyone but the next butler or Lord Grantham himself. I've already told Lord Grantham, in case something happens to me. It would never do to have all that knowledge lost to the world."

"Really, do you need to be so melodramatic about it?" Elsie scoffed, but she was burning to find this book.

"There are secrets in that book that could embarrass the Family, not to mention other families, including the Royal family," Charles informed her seriously.

"Keep your secrets," Elsie shrugged. "Leave it to men to write down things they don't want anyone to know."

"But half of the things in the book are things that every butler of Downton Abbey must know in order to do his job properly," Charles insisted.

"Such as?"

"It says when and how to ring the changing gong."

"It matters how you ring the gong?"

"There have been several different gongs over time and each one must be sounded in exactly the same way," Charles shared tentatively, as if afraid of betraying a confidence. "I can't tell you what a relief it was to have it all written out for me. I'd always tried to abide by society's rules and the rules of the hose, but some of the rules were unclear to me. Here was everything written out in black and white. My personal beliefs or interpretations didn't matter. The rules were defined and I could hold them in my hand.

"The day I became butler and Mr. Brooks hand me that book was the happiest day of my life to that point. I've had a few better ones since, but it was a long time coming," Charles admitted.

"As butler, I ran the house with a firm and precise hand. Mrs. Curtis and I saw that every day ran exactly to plan and was as identical to the day before as possible. There were allowances for the schedules of the family upstairs, of course, but downstairs, nothing varied."

Charles looked significantly at his wife. "Nothing, that is, until someone came along who challenged everything that I thought immutable. Someone who would disrupt the monotony I'd worked so hard to create."

"Does that mean we're coming to your favorite part of the story?" Elsie asked coyly.

"Mmhmm," Charles answered.

"Your throat must be so dry, my love," Elsie observed sympathetically. "Why don't you let me tell this part?"

Her offer surprised him, but when she looked at him with those storm-swept eyes, Charles knew he could not deny her. "If you wish. I would love to hear about your first days at Downton from your perspective."

TBC…

* * *

 **AN/ RE: Previous chapter...I can't remember if I've named Trevor before in another story, but if I have, I apologize. I must admit to being slightly obsessed with that fish. Jim mentioned it in an interview once. He said that Carson had caught it on the only holiday he'd ever taken, or something to that effect.**

 **I know I've mentioned Edith as a colicky baby in other stories. It's my head canon. I have to believe there is some subconscious reason Mary loathes her sister so much beyond the proximity of their ages. In my mind Mary, Edith and Sybil Crawley were** **respectively** **serious, fussy and joyful babies/children.**

 **Next chapter…CHELSIE MEETS for the first time!**


	27. Now Introducing

"As you already know, I came to Downton from Thirlestane Castle, where I'd been a chamber maid. Thirlestane was the first great house I'd worked in. Prior to that, I'd worked in several small houses, sometimes as the only maid. So I had some experience running a house on a smaller scale. Mrs. Curtis was willing to give me a try at head housemaid based on the recommendation of Mrs. Morrison, the housekeeper at Thirlestane.

"I was miserable at Thirlestane where every day was full of backstabbing and malicious plotting. I assumed all great houses were like that. I had been content in the smaller homes I had served. I never cared for the status associated with the great houses, but I could not afford to ignore the higher salaries on offer. My mother was still alive at this point, but I needed to plan ahead.

"Mr. Burns proposed to me just before I left for Downton," Elsie reminded Charles of a fact he was not likely to ever forget. "The only reason I didn't turn him down immediately was my fear that the atmosphere at Downton would be just as poisonous as it had been at Thirlestane. If all great houses were like that, my best hope for providing for Becky would be to marry Joe."

Elsie frowned in shame. "I'm embarrassed to admit that I would have married him just for the surety he offered."

"You had to consider your family's future, love," Charles said encouragingly. "You wouldn't have been the first person to marry for practical reasons; nor the last."

"Thankfully, it didn't come to that," Elsie managed to smile. "I arrived one month before the garden party, when the family and most of the staff were still in London. Mrs. Curtis was so kind to me that I doubted her sincerity at first. Then, I started to realize that Downton was nothing like Thirlestane. The maids were relatively happy and worked together seamlessly. Mrs. Patmore was newly installed as cook and was very deferential to Mrs. Curtis. If only she would have remained so deferential when I became housekeeper," Elsie teased.

"In any event, I found Downton very welcoming. I made up my mind very early that I could be happy at Downton; happy enough that I wouldn't have to impose on Joe's good nature. My only reason for pause was you."

"Me?" Charles asked in wonder. "You hadn't even met me yet."

"Exactly. I needed to see how the house operated when it was full and functioning. Mrs. Curtis spoke of you with respect, which gave me hope, but I would have to see for myself how you were. I tried to ask about you discreetly, but I wasn't able to gather much information about you."

"What did you want to know about me?"

"I needed to know if you respected Mrs. Curtis as much as she respected you."

"And if I hadn't…" Charles asked with belated nervousness. "You would have married Joe?"

"I would have," Elsie admitted. "If he'd still wanted me after I told him about Becky."

"He would have," Charles said, confident in the truth of his words. Joe Burns was no fool.

"But he never had the chance," Elsie soothed as she gave his hand a squeeze. "Because the day before the family were to return from London, I finally met the fabled butler of Downton Abbey."

-00-

 _"Candice, lass, whatever are you doing?" Elsie demanded of the young maid as she entered the music room. The girl was hopping up and down frantically while holding her feather duster over her head._

 _"The dust cover has done gotten stuck," the poor girl moaned and pointed to the sheet currently hung up on the top of a statue. It wasn't a particularly tall statue, but then, Candice was not a particularly tall girl. Elsie reached up to pull it down, but found that she was not tall enough to untangle the sheet either._

 _"Go and fetch a stepladder," Elsie sighed._

 _"I haven't time," Candice whined._

 _"It will only take two minutes," Elsie insisted._

 _"I'm sure we can get it between the two of us. It took two maids to cover the statue…" Candice picked up two corners of the sheet and pumped her arms, making the sheet billow. "Maybe if you do this, I can reach up with the duster and poke the sheet free," the young maid suggested._

 _"I still say we should get a ladder and do this properly," Elsie protested, but she took hold the points of the sheet that had been handed to her. She fanned the sheet as Candice jabbed her duster at the top of the statue._

 _"You sound like Mr. Carson," Candice teased. "According to him, everything must be done properly, whether it makes sense or not."_

 _"This makes sense to you?" Elsie countered, billowing the sheet as high as she could. "What do you think of Mr. Carson?" She tried to make her inquiry sound nonchalant. Candice was too distracted by her goal to think much of the question._

 _"He never smiles. He's demanding, but fair. If you work hard, you won't have any trouble with Mr. Carson,"_ _Candice reported._ _"He's a strict ol' stick in the mud, but he doesn't bother with the maids much."_

 _"He lets Mrs. Curtis handle the maids then; without interference?" Elsie pressed. This was contrary to her experience at Thirlestane._

 _"It's her job, innit? He's got enough to do with doing his own job," Candice said reasonably. "There! Give it a yank!"_

 _Elsie saw the sheet start to shift and gave a strong pull. The sheet caught again and Elsie pulled harder. With a loud ripping sound, the sheet split and Elsie went tumbling to the floor. The sheet floated down to cover her as Candice shrieked and grabbed hold of the statue which Elsie could hear rocking heavily back and forth. Elsie could not help but laugh at herself. Soon, she and Candice were both giggling at the absurd situation. Suddenly, Elsie heard quick footsteps approaching. They were not a woman's steps._

 _"What is the meaning of this noise?" A deep voice bellowed as the door was pushed open. "Candice, what are you and Deirdre up to in here?"_

 _"Just removing the last of the dust covers, Mr. Carson," the terrified maid replied._

 _Elsie silently cursed as she tried to struggle to her feet, but found herself tangled in the sheet. She froze as a pair of immaculately polished shoes stopped beside her. Elsie took a moment to marvel at the shine on the shoes. Mr. Carson must have just arrived from the station, but his shoes did not have a speck of dust or dirt on them._

 _"You should have used a stepladder," the butler grumbled. "We must always take the extra time to do things properly. It would not have saved any time if one of you were to be crushed by this statue."_

 _"Yes, Mr. Carson," Candice murmured._

 _"I've half a mind to tell Mrs. Curtis," Mr. Carson continued. "But what's done is done. In future, I expect you to fetch a ladder when one is needed."_

 _"Yes, Mr. Carson."_

 _"And do get up, Deirdre." Elsie felt two strong hands gripping her elbows and lifting her up as if she weighed no more than the sheet that covered her. "The new head housemaid comes to us from a very important Scottish house. We don't want her thinking the standards at Downton don't measure up."_

 _"No, Mr. Carson," Candice whimpered._

 _By the time Elsie was steady enough on her feet to extract her head and shoulders from the dust cover, Mr. Carson had already turned his back on her. She watched the retreating figure and noted what few details she could. He was bigger than she'd expected judging by the lightness of his steps. His back was broad and his posture was impeccable, with shoulders and head held high. He moved swiftly and smoothly. He did not even break his gait as he opened the servant's door and exited the music room._

 _"He won't tell Mrs. Curtis, will he?" Elsie asked worriedly. "Or Lady Grantham?" Infractions such as this were usually brought to the attention of the lady of the house at Thirlestane._

 _"Why would he bother them with something so trivial?" Candice looked at Elsie as though she had just suggested he might tell the Queen herself. "Why would Lady Grantham want to hear about two maids goofing off in the music room?" It hadn't occurred to Elsie to think that way. Her experience at Thirlestane had led her to believe that all great houses were run with an undercurrent of suspicion and sabotage._

 _"I guess she wouldn't," Elsie said as the truth dawned on her. Thirlestane was a dysfunctional house. If the Lord and Lady of the house are always being bothered with petty staff issues it was because the butler and housekeeper were not doing their jobs. With her positive impression of Downton thus reinforced, Elsie wrapped up the sheet and headed downstairs. Perhaps Mrs. Curtis would formally introduce her to Mr. Carson._

 _-00-_

 _"Here she is, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Curtis exclaimed as Elsie hurried down the stairs outside the butler's pantry._

 _Mrs. Curtis and Mr. Carson emerged from his pantry. The butler filled the doorway with his significant presence. She'd known that he was young for a butler, but she hadn't expected someone so vital. His slicked back hair was dark with no signs of grey. His eye color was hard to judge at this distance, but his eyes were dark and keen beneath bushy eyebrows.  
_

 _"Elsie, I should like you to meet Mr. Carson, butler of Downton Abbey," Mrs. Curtis said proudly. "Mr. Carson, it pleases me to introduce you to our new head housemaid, Elsie Hughes."_

 _"I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Elsie. Mrs. Curtis tells me you are settling in well."_

 _"I am, Mr. Carson, thank you. Everyone has been most kind. Lady Grantham even sent me a letter of welcome."_

 _"Mrs. Curtis believes that you will be a fine addition to the Downton staff and I trust her judgement implicitly. I hope you'll find that our standards are as high as those of any grand estate in Britain. We pride ourselves on doing everything properly." He delivered this speech with his hands clasped behind his back. There was no offer of a handshake. This irked Elsie._

 _"Actually, Mr. Carson, you and I have already met," Elsie challenged cheekily. Something about his haughty expression goaded her to borderline insolence._

 _"Have we?" He asked in confusion. "I'm sure I would have remembered." He did not elaborate on why he might have remembered her, and Elsie didn't ask._

 _"Perhaps you don't recognize me. I was laying under a sheet at the time."_

 _"I beg your pardon?" Mr. Carson's prodigious eyebrows drew so close together that they were almost one. "Exactly what are you insinuating, Miss Hughes?"_

 _"I'm not insinuating anything, Mr. Carson," Elsie replied innocently. She was honestly confused by his reaction._

 _"I find it strange that you would make such an accusation, which condemns yourself as much as it does me. That is, it would, if what you are claiming were true," Mr. Carson glowered. "Which it is not."_

 _It took Elsie a few moments to realize how her comment had sounded. "Oh, goodness! No, that isn't at all…Why would I say something like that? I mean… It would implicate both of us, wouldn't it? Not that there's anything…that is to say I'm sure…"_

 _"Perhaps you should explain yourself, Elsie," Mrs. Curtis prompted gently._

 _"I only wanted to let Mr. Carson know that I was the person under the dust cover just now in the music room."_

 _"That doesn't sound much better than before," Mrs. Curtis frowned._

 _Elsie worried at her bottom lip. She did not want to betray Candice to Mrs. Curtis, but she must clarify the misunderstanding. "A dust sheet was caught on a statue in the music room. Rather than fetch a ladder, I attempted to pull it free." Elsie decided to be as vague as possible. If Candice were to be betrayed, it would not be by her._

 _"I fell and Mr. Carson found me. He assumed I was one of the other maids. He helped me to my feet and left before I could introduce myself."_

 _Mrs. Curtis looked to Mr. Carson who nodded. "I thought she was Deirdre. I hadn't thought to find the head housemaid removing dust covers."_

 _"I sent her to check on the girls," Mrs. Curtis explained. "Well, that's settled. I'm glad there was a reasonable explanation."_

 _"As am I," Mr. Carson agreed. "You must me mindful of how your words might be construed, Elsie."_

 _"Certainly, Mr. Carson. Though, to be fair, I honestly didn't mean anything improper. If you heard it that way, you must own some responsibility for the misunderstanding…"_

 _His countenance grew darker and darker. Realizing that the more she spoke, the worse she made matters, Elsie forced herself to stop. She just shrugged and looked to Mrs. Curtis for help._

 _"Don't scare the poor woman off on your first day back, Mr. Carson. I assure you, Elsie is an excellent worker and I'm sure you'll be impressed."_

 _This soothed his ruffled feathers somewhat, but he continued to frown. "You'll have your hands full with this one, I fear, Mrs. Curtis," Mr. Carson scowled at Elsie while addressing the housekeeper._

 _"Yes, but the joke is on you, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Curtis smirked. Mr. Carson's glare waivered as he raised an eyebrow in question. "When I retire, she shall be your problem."_

 _Seeing that he was out numbered, Mr. Carson gave a gruff sigh and looked Heavenward. "That's assuming I survive long enough to see you retire, Mrs. Curtis." He turned and walked away with his usual superior bearing. The women managed to hold back their mirth until they heard him mutter, "God grant me the strength."_

 _When they'd finished laughing and wiping the tears from their eyes, Mrs. Curtis grew more serious. "Don't judge too harshly, Elsie. It's only that everything must be perfect for the Family's return and Mr. Carson doesn't approve of high spirits so early in the day."_

 _"It's two o'clock," Elsie observed._

 _"So it is," Mrs. Curtis agreed with a grin and a wink.  
_

 _Elsie was pleased to find that the report on Mr. Carson had been accurate. He was uptight, but he was not unkind. His sense of humor might be suspect but h_ _e had not betrayed Candice._ _Elsie knew that uptight could be fixed._

 _Yes, Elsie thought, she could be very happy at Downton._

 _TBC…_

* * *

 **AN/ There's the meet cute. We'll get Carson's view on her early days in the next chapter.**


	28. A Friendly Wager

"I still can't believe you accused me of being a lech the first time we spoke," Charles needled Elsie.

"And now I know the truth," Elsie teased back. "You are a lech, but you're my lech."

"You must bring it out in me, because I wasn't one until I met you," Charles claimed. He kissed her behind her ear, drawing out the act until he heard her satisfied hum.

"You were too busy playing the role of butler to entertain such thoughts," Elsie reminded him.

"I thought I was happy. I didn't think there was anything missing in my life."

"You were lonely, but you were too stubborn to admit it."

"Perhaps I was just waiting for someone to show me the truth," Charles sighed. "A few people tried to do so through the years, but I was easily able to deflect them and they soon gave up the attempt."

"You weren't used to being challenged," Elsie surmised.

"Not really. Mrs. Curtis was no pushover, but she rarely pushed me beyond a certain line that we'd agreed upon. We certainly never had any arguments to rival those you and I have had over the years," Charles admitted. "Before you, Downton was tranquil and orderly."

"And after I arrived?"

"Outwardly, it was as orderly as ever, but it wasn't tranquil."

"What was it?"

"I dunno…different. You had unsettled me, but I wouldn't say that I found the sensation unpleasant."

-00-

 _"You're very quiet tonight, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Curtis's kind voice broke into his reverie. "I hope Elsie's joking hasn't insulted you."_

 _"Not at all," Carson assured her, looking up from his sherry._

 _"To be honest, Mr. Carson, I was glad to see that she was comfortable enough to stand up for herself."_

 _"Has she not been comfortable here? You said she was assimilating well."_

 _"She was; she is, but there's always that transition, isn't there? It takes time before one can truly be themselves," Mrs. Curtis suggested. "I've felt that she was holding something back until today."_

 _"I wouldn't have objected to her taking a little more time to transition," Mr. Carson observed wryly._

 _"But you've no objection to her?"_

 _"None whatsoever, but I hate to see you waste your time like this," Carson said sympathetically._

 _"Waste my time? You don't think she'll be a suitable replacement for me in a few years?"_

 _"I'm sure she would be," Carson conceded. "But I doubt very much she'll be here that long."_

 _"Where might she be going?"_

 _"She might choose to marry and leave us."_

 _"And who is it she might marry?"_

 _"How should I know? Downton has its share of candidates," Charles shrugged. "There's Mr. Abbot, Mr. Kettell, Dr. Clarkson…"_

 _"Are you just suggesting the good doctor because they're both Scots?" Mrs. Curtis demanded._

 _"It would give them something in common," came the meek reply._

 _"Why do you assume she wants to marry? It may surprise you, Mr. Carson, but it is not the ambition of every woman to marry," Mrs. Curtis informed him and beginning to become agitated._

 _"Isn't it?" He asked, genuinely surprised._

 _"No, Mr. Carson, it is not. And, if Miss Hughes wanted a Scotsman for a husband, she would most likely not have left Scotland," the housekeeper pointed out._

 _"Still," Mr. Carson unwisely insisted. "You don't think she'd take the chance if it were offered?"_

 _"I'm sure it has been offered, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Curtis averred. "She's in her late thirties and she's not unattractive. Or haven't you noticed?"_

 _"I noticed," Mr. Carson admitted, adjusting his collar. "I'm a confirmed bachelor, but I'm not blind. Or dead."_

 _"You can be a confirmed bachelor, but women cannot be confirmed maids?" Mrs. Curtis asked incredulously. "Do you suppose every woman who isn't married remains so because she didn't have any offers? Do you suppose that I didn't have any offers, Mr. Carson?"_

 _Carson recognized that he was on thin ice and stepped cautiously. "Of course, I don't think that. I understand that you have made decisions in your life to pursue your career. I meant no disrespect to you, Mrs. Curtis," he apologized sincerely. "My point is we don't know Elsie well enough to say that she is cut from the same cloth."_

 _"I interviewed her and I believe that she is," Mrs. Curtis insisted._

 _"As much as I trust your judgement, I say it's too early to know. Look at the situation. Why would she leave a magnificent estate like Thirlestane to come to a smaller estate away from her homeland?" He reasoned. "I suspect that she's running from something."_

 _"Since you know so much, how long do you think she'll stay?"_

 _"She'll stay at least six months out of professional courtesy, but I don't think she'll last a full year," Charles conjectured._

 _"Are you willing to put your money where your mouth is, mister?"_

 _"Mister?" Charles was taken aback by Mrs. Curtis' uncharacteristically aggressive behavior. "She's had a bad influence on you it seems."_

 _"Don't dodge the question."_

 _"Are you proposing a wager?"_

 _"Yes."_

 _"What stakes do you suggest?"_

 _"Margaux versus Martin," Mrs. Curtis said simply. Charles knew immediately what she meant. When the Dowager Countess had moved into the Dower House, she'd gifted Mr. Carson and Mrs. Curtis with very expensive bottles of wine and brandy, respectively._

 _"That's very rich considering I am only arguing that it is too early to judge," Mr. Carson said, trying to back out of any agreement. He was not certain enough to risk his prized bottle of wine._

 _"I didn't expect you to prove a coward, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Curtis goaded. "You seemed so sure of yourself. I am disappointed."_

 _"You're trying to bully me, Mrs. Curtis," Carson frowned. "I am not willing to take your wager, but I will offer a compromise."_

 _"I'm listening."_

 _"Whomever is wrong will open and share their prized bottle with the winner," Carson offered. It was an empty bet and they both knew it. They would each share their wine or brandy with the other regardless of any bet. Still, there would be a clear acknowledgement of a winner and a loser._

 _"I accept," Mrs. Curtis grinned and shook Mr. Carson's hand on the deal._

-00-

 _The Sunday after the family returned, most of the staff were able to attend services at the village church as the family were taking luncheon at a neighboring estate._

 _The new rector, Reverend Travis, buttonholed Charles after church and was currently droning on about ways the house could work with the church to serve the community. Charles thought Mr. Travis sounded more like a Politian than a man of God. His eyes and mind wandered. He saw several of the Downton maids chatting with a group of Downton village lads. Charles noticed that the usual group of lads now contained a few older gentlemen; men Charles knew to be widowers with children. He saw the recently widowed blacksmith, Mr. Kettell, speaking to Elsie who was smiling politely. Charles hadn't realized he was staring until Elsie raised her eyes and looked directly at him with a bemused grin. Charles immediately looked away, but he knew he'd been caught out. He agreed with whatever nonsense the good Reverend had been spouting and excused himself._

 _Usually, Carson walked to and from church with Mrs. Curtis, but the housekeeper had stayed at the Abbey this morning with a young maid who was suffering from a combination of homesickness and a summer cold. Today, he had walked into the village with Mrs. Patmore, but the cook had already hurried back to the Abbey to prepare the staff luncheon. Hoping to remain on his own, Mr. Carson hurried to get a head start on the staff, especially Elsie. Carson's escape was foiled at the churchyard gate when his way was blocked by a pair of elderly ladies who were walking excruciatingly slowly._

 _"Did Mrs. Curtis ask you to keep an eye on me, Mr. Carson?" A sarcastic brogue inquired from behind him._

 _"No, she did not," he answered shortly. Now that the path was clear, Carson began walking towards Downton. He resisted the urge to growl at Elsie when the housemaid fell into step beside him. She took two quick steps for every one stride of his, but he could not shake her off without being rude. Accepting defeat, Mr. Carson slowed his pace and allowed Elsie to walk at a more reasonable clip._

 _"Do you find Mr. Travis' conversation as fascinating as his sermons?"_

 _"Not particularly. Why do you ask?"_

 _"Only because you didn't seem to be paying him much attention," Elsie commented._

 _"During the sermon or during the conversation?" Mr. Carson wondered._

 _"Both," Elsie replied. "If you must know, Mrs. Curtis asked me to keep an eye on the younger maids. I would not have loitered after the service otherwise."_

 _"You do not have to explain yourself to me, Miss Hughes."_

 _"It's only that you seemed to disapprove of my behavior," Elsie persisted._

 _"It is no business of mine," Mr. Carson said dismissively. "Mrs. Curtis trusts you to conduct yourself in a manner which will reflect well on the honor of the house. My opinion does not signify."_

 _"Thank you for saying so, Mr. Carson, but I wanted to assure you that my ambitions lie at Downton," Elsie asserted._

 _"I have no doubt in your ability to achieve any ambition to which you set yourself," Mr. Carson said evenly. Elsie caught the double meaning, but chose to rise above the insinuation._

 _"Thank you, Mr. Carson. It means a great deal to know that someone as knowledgeable as you thinks I can succeed in reaching the top of my profession."_

 _"You'll advance more surely through hard work than flattery, Miss Hughes," Mr. Carson rejoined, deflating Elsie's mood until she looked up and caught a twitch of and eyebrow and a slight uptick to the corner of his mouth. Was that a crack in his façade? Elsie had heard rumors that when Mr. Carson smiled, it was reserved for Lady Mary and Mrs. Curtis. Maybe Elsie could add her name to that list._

 _"But the two are not mutually exclusive," Elsie noted with a twinkle in her eye. "I intend to get what I want through a steady regime of hard work and flattery."_

 _"Then there is truly no stopping you," Mr. Carson deadpanned._

-00-

 _Sunday evening Mr. Carson entered Mrs. Curtis' sitting room carrying a dusty bottle of wine. He set it gently on the table beside the door. "You win," he said simply. "You may name the night when we share this."_

 _"You're giving up awfully easily," Mrs. Curtis smirked._

 _"I can admit when I'm wrong," Mr. Carson claimed magnanimously._

 _"This is the first time I've witnessed such an admission," Mrs. Curtis jibed kindly._

 _"Then this is the first time you have witnessed me being wrong," Carson replied cheekily._

 _"I highly doubt that," Mrs. Curtis laughed. "Still, I think this is cause for celebration." She walked to her china cabinet and picked up the sparkling bottle of brandy._

 _"You don't have to…" Carson protested._

 _"No, I don't," Mrs. Curtis agreed. "Still, I feel I bullied you into taking our bet, Mr. Carson. I had the advantage of you, having known Elsie for a month now. Besides, I've been looking for an excuse to open this."_

 _Mrs. Curtis poured out the brandy into two snifters from her shelf. She handed one to the now seated Mr. Carson and carried the other to her own seat. The two heads of house sat quietly swirling the Remy Martin, warming it with their hands and occasionally sniffing at the delicious aromas wafting from the golden liquid._

 _"What convinced you, if I may ask?" Mrs. Curtis inquired._

 _"Miss Hughes voiced her ambitions to me. She seems committed to her career, as you tried to tell me."_

 _Mrs. Curtis took a tentative sip of her brandy and sighed with satisfaction. "Some things are truly better with time, don't you think, Mr. Carson?"_

 _Mr. Carson sipped his own brandy and raised his eyebrows in appreciation. "This brandy certainly supports that theory."_

 _"You don't seem terribly upset at being wrong," Mrs. Curtis observed slyly._

 _"Losing never tasted so sweet," Carson toasted._

TBC…

* * *

 **AN/ I REALLY want to finish this up before Series 6 starts NEXT SUNDAY! I'm gonna say it, because I know you won't believe it...2 or 3 more chapters!**

 **Back for a short bit of Elsie's POV next chapter... Then back to the 'present'.**


	29. Heir and a Spare

"You bet against me?" Elsie exclaimed in wonder. She couldn't believe this was the first she was hearing of this.

"I bet for you getting married. I bet against you remaining at Downton," Charles corrected. "I'd seen plenty of pretty young maids come through Downton just looking for a husband in the village to save them. I thought some Yorkshire Casanova would sweep you off your feet."

"Casanova? In Downton? Not likely," Elsie laughed. "And I was hardly a pretty young maid. I was nearly forty."

"But you were very pretty. I knew you were too tempting a prize for the Downton men to pass up."

"You really thought I was pretty?"

"No," Charles claimed, much to his wife's consternation. He let her stew for a moment before continuing. "I didn't just think you were pretty. I knew that you were beautiful."

He kissed her cheek lovingly. "And you still are, Mrs. Carson."

"To you at least," Elsie humbly appended.

"Always to me, but also to others."

Elsie laughed at him and kissed his lips lightly. "I love that you think so."

Charles grew suddenly earnest. "You do know that it isn't just empty flattery, don't you?"

Elsie shrugged.

"Elsie?" Charles frowned at her noncommittal answer.

"I'm not sure what you want me to say, Charles." She was bemused by his change of mood. Only Charles Carson could take something like this so seriously.

"I want you to say that you believe me when I say that you are beautiful." He couldn't explain why it was so very important to him that she accepted her beauty as fact. He only knew that it was.

"I believe that you believe it, Charles, which makes me very happy," she answered with a broad smile. "Your opinion is the only one that matters to me."

This placated him a little, but he would not be diverted from his objective. "I'm glad you are happy and I'm proud that my opinion means so much to you," he said. "But you need to understand that it isn't just my opinion. In any time or place you would be objectively considered a handsome woman."

Despite her natural humility, Elsie found herself moved by his conviction. "Daft man," she tried once more to dismiss him.

"It's the truth, Elsie. You know it's true because I said it and I couldn't lie if my life depended on it."

She chuckled at his little joke and tried one of her own. "Are you trying to make me vain, Charles?"

"You're too sensible to fall into the trap of vanity," Charles dismissed.

"If you persist, I don't know how I can possibly avoid the trap."

"One can be proud without being vain," Charles insisted. "If physical beauty was all you possessed, then vanity might be your only recourse, but on top of everything else you are, Elsie, you happen to also be very beautiful. It is high time that you accept that indisputable truth."

Elsie rolled her eyes and threw her hands up in surrender. "Very well, I'll admit that I could have married any eligible widower in Downton if I'd chosen to. Are you happy now?"

"Yes. I'm especially happy that you didn't marry any of them."

"I was too busy trying to impress the butler at Downton to worry about the men in the village," Elsie smiled coyly. "I thought that first garden party would be the death of me."

"With His Lordship due to leave for Africa, it was important to get everything just right," Charles defended his actions over twenty years earlier.

"Yes, so I heard, a thousand times in those three weeks leading up to the event," Elsie reminded him. "The maids started joking that it would be easier if they sent us to the war and let His Lordship stay home. Candice thought they ought to send you to organize the Boer's into submission."

"Was I as bad as that?"

"It was rather sweet to see how much importance you put on the event. You wanted to give Lord Grantham a happy memory to take with him," Elsie said understandingly. "However, it wasn't much fun for the staff. It was all Mrs. Curtis and I could do to keep them from turning on you."

"But between the two of you, I was protected," Charles acknowledged.

"The thing that kept me going was the hope that you would smile when all was said and done. Mrs. Curtis said you always beamed with pride on the day of a successful event."

"And was my smile worth all that work?" Charles wondered.

"I'm sure it was, but I didn't see it. I was in the kitchen with Mrs. Patmore seeing that all the trays were in order, so I never had the chance to see you," Elsie admitted with a chuckle. "Mrs. Curtis said you'd asked her to pass your compliment on to me, but you didn't thank me directly."

"It wouldn't have been proper for me to seek you out to thank you," Charles argued. "Even if I wanted to."

"So, it was a long time before I saw you actually smile," Elsie remembered.

"Was it? It can't have been too long," Charles insisted.

"Not until after Christmas, just after Beryl…"

"Don't remind me," Charles interrupted with a huff.

"It was the first time we met over sherry," Elsie reminded him. "You were a different man with that door closed and a little Jerez nectar in your glass."

"I suppose I always considered that time as 'off stage'," Charles ruminated. "I still do."

"And our house? Is it off stage?"

"Our house is the boarding house room to which I've convinced the most beautiful lady in the audience to come back home with me," Charles purred seductively.

"Did that happen often?" Elsie asked, knowing full well the answer.

"Never, until now," her husband smiled.

"You do have a lovely smile, love," Elsie praised him. "I wish more people knew that."

"I can't go around grinning like a fool, it would undermine my authority," Charles maintained.

"It used to be a game of mine to get you to smile when other people were around, it was quite the challenge at one time, but there's not much sport in it recently."

"I wonder what could be the reason for that," Charles teased back.

"Lady Mary never had any trouble getting a smile out of you," Elsie recalled. "Even when she deserved a scolding."

"I know you think it would have done her some good, but I was never much good at scolding her," Charles admitted. "But I'll always save a special smile for my special lass."

Elsie knew he was trying to distract her from her thoughts on Lady Mary, but it was too late. A specific memory leaped into her mind.

"It didn't take long to see how Lady Mary had you wrapped around her finger," Elsie grinned. "It was frustrating to see, but it did give me my chance to see you laugh for the first time."

"Oh? When was that?"

"It was not too long into the New Year. Mrs. Curtis had just returned from her sister's so I was just the head housemaid again, though I was sometimes invited to have sherry with you and Mrs. Curtis. The young ladies were nine and ten, I think."

-00-

 _Elsie was walking up the laundry corridor when she heard raised voices coming from the servant's hall. Amongst the shouting, Elsie could hear crying. It was a cry she recognized. What could Lady Mary have done to Lady Edith now, Elsie wondered._

 _Elsie reached the scene just as Mr. Carson arrived._

 _"Enough! I will not have such pandemonium below stairs," the irate butler roared as he burst into the servant's hall. The next moment he realized that he was not chastising two maids, but Ladies Mary and Edith. Carson's demeanor softened at once. "May I ask what brings Your Ladyships downstairs to honor us with your visit?" He sounded remarkably calm, but he did not sound honored._

 _"I was merely showing Edith where she'll be working when she's old enough," young Lady Mary said confidently._

 _"Lady Edith," Carson emphasized the title. "Will not be working anywhere, milady, least of all in the Downton kitchens."_

 _"Not immediately, of course, but she will when she turns twelve," Mary claimed, causing her sister to break into fresh fits of tears. "Isn't that so, Carson?"_

 _Mr. Carson was in the difficult position of contradicting a Lady of the house in front of others. To avoid this, he suggested a change of venue. "Both of you, in my parlor. Now."_

 _At his gruff demeanor, Lady Mary's confidence waivered, but she remained stubbornly haughty._

 _"Now," Carson repeated._

 _Lady Edith skittered down the hall to the butler's pantry. Lady Mary followed slowly, complying with Carson's request while making it clear that she was doing so of her own free will._

 _"Would you please bring us some tea, Elsie?" Mr. Carson asked wearily. Elsie nodded and hurried to the kitchen to prepare a tray. If she hurried, she might get to hear Mr. Carson telling off the little minx. The water took an age to boil as Mrs. Patmore stomped around the kitchen in a rage. Elsie knew better than to ask for an explanation from the cook._

 _"It used to be adorable when they'd come and visit, but now they're little terrors," was all Mrs. Patmore would offer._

 _By the time the water was in the tea pot and Elsie knocked on the door, she was sure that she'd missed everything of interest. Fortunately, she saw that very little progress had been made in her absence. It seemed Mr. Carson was waiting for her. He looked completely baffled by the situation._

 _The young ladies were seated in the chairs that normally flanked the hearth, but now faced Mr. Carson's formidable desk. The butler was not seated behind the desk, but stood menacingly in front of it. Mr. Carson didn't mean to be menacing, but that was the effect. Elsie could tell that Mr. Carson thought he would be less intimidating if he were not at his desk, but he was wrong. Lady Edith sat sniffling into a man's handkerchief, clearly belonging to Mr. Carson. Lady Edith was still trying to share her grievance with Mr. Carson, but was too terrified to get through more than one sentence at a time. Lady Mary sat beside her sister, smirking._

 _The little imp knows she won't get in trouble for whatever it is she's done, Elsie realized._

 _Mr. Carson was visibly relieved to see Elsie arrive with the tea. He took the tray from her and set it on his desk._

 _"Here now," he said kindly. "Have a biscuit, milady." He offered the plate of biscuits to Lady Edith who did as he suggested with a quick, hopeful smile. Lady Mary frowned when the butler did not extend the same courtesy to her. Mr. Carson did, however prepare two cups of tea and give one to each girl._

 _"Let me get this clear," Mr. Carson said calmly. "Lady Mary, you claim that you overheard Fraulein Kelder say Lord and Lady Grantham were blessed that they had 'an heir and a spare'?"_

 _"Yes," the little Lady insisted._

 _"She went on to say that one of you young ladies was redundant?"_

 _"Yes, she said Mama and Papa should keep the pretty one and the sweet one," Mary declared with a devilish smirk. "I think it is clear she was referring to myself and Sybil."_

 _"I hope you're not claiming to be the sweet one," Elsie muttered. When Lady Mary and Mr. Carson both glared at her Elsie added, "Milady."_

 _"I assumed they would not send Edith away so I thought she would likely work downstairs. I thought it would be a good idea to show her the kitchens. Mrs. Patmore used to be very kind to us," Mary explained. "She wasn't very welcoming today."_

 _"You brought a distraught child into her kitchens in the middle of afternoon preparations," Mr. Carson turned his scowl towards the eldest Crawley girl. Still, in his glowering countenance, Elsie could see in his eyes the tenderness he had for the girl. Luckily, Lady Mary did not see this and became contrite. She dropped her eyes from his face to his shoes._

 _"I'm sure you must have misheard, milady," Mr. Carson said more kindly. "'Heir and a spare,' indeed! Fraulein Kelder well knows that vile phrase, if it must be used, does not apply to the daughters of noble houses, but to the sons."_

 _Both young ladies looked confused at this information._

 _"But I'm the heir to Downton," Lady Mary asserted raising her eyes up defiantly. "I'm the eldest!" She stamped her tiny foot to emphasize her claim._

 _Mr. Carson gave Elsie a panicked look. His eyes told her if Lady Mary believed herself to be the future Countess of Grantham, he did not want to be the one who informed her otherwise. "I'm afraid that is not how it works, milady," Elsie stepped in before Mr. Carson was forced to break his favorite's heart._

 _If Lady Mary must associate someone with the loss of her future home, Elsie was happy to have it be herself rather than Mr. Carson. "Daughters do not inherit. They marry and become mistress of their husband's estates. The only distinction given to the eldest daughter is that she might marry first. She is expected to, in fact."_

 _"Then who will be the Earl of Grantham when Papa is gone?"_

 _A part of Elsie was actually impressed by the young girl's lack of sentimentality. Elsie could have told Lady Mary that her cousins Mr. James Crawley and his son were in line to inherit her home, but she did not think now was the time to explain the intricacies of progenitor to the young Crawley girls. Nor did she think it her place._

 _As much as she might want to take the spoiled child down a peg, Elsie sensed that Lady Mary and Lady Edith had heard enough for now. She did not think it wise to explain to them that all the Crawley daughters were equally precious and useless in the eyes of society. Elsie looked to Mr. Carson to rejoin the conversation._

 _"That is a topic for another day," Mr. Carson said sternly. He had apparently decided to gloss over the question and bring them back on point. "I think you owe Lady Edith an apology for accidentally upsetting her."_

 _"But…"_

 _"Because I'm confident that it was accidental," he frowned down at the child who was more accustomed to his smiles than his frowns. "If it were intentional, that would be most disappointing."_

 _Lady Mary sighed and slumped in defeat for the briefest of moments. She then sat up straight and addressed her sister coolly. "I am very sorry, Edith. I misunderstood or misheard Fraulein Kelder. I thought you would be sent to work in the kitchens one day and I thought you might benefit from visiting."_

 _Elsie shook her head at this backhanded apology, but Mr. Carson recognized that it was the best they could hope for. Mrs. Patmore could still be heard crashing pots and pans about in the kitchen. It was high time the young ladies return upstairs before they learned any colorful new phrases._

 _Mr. Carson took the girls' now empty tea cups and offered Lady Edith the last biscuit. Lady Mary pretended not to care, but her jealousy was evident to all. Lady Edith munched on the biscuit happily and smiled at Elsie._

 _"Alright, upstairs with you," Mr. Carson urged gently. Elsie opened the door and Lady Edith was gone like a shot. "Lady Mary?" Mr. Carson stopped the child at the door with a word._

 _"Yes, Carson?"_

 _"The next time you overhear something, milady, I suggest you forget what you've heard," he advised. "And if you are ever confused about something or have any questions, you should ask Fraulein Kelder, your parents, or me."_

 _"Yes, Carson." Lady Mary nodded her stubborn acknowledgement. She was not pleased that she had been treated so coldly by her butler. "It's a good thing I'm the eldest, though. If I have to wait until Edith finds a husband, I'll be an old maid."_

 _With this parting shot, Lady Mary followed her sister up the stairs, chasing her back to the nursery._

 _As soon as he heard the green baize door close, Mr. Carson burst out laughing. "Just like her grandmamma," Mr. Carson chuckled. "She always has to have the last word."_

 _-00-_

 _That evening, Elsie related the whole story to Mrs. Curtis. The housekeeper sat in her desk chair while Elsie occupied the guest chair located furthest from the door._

 _"I don't understand why he indulges her so," Elsie concluded._

 _"It's one of those things that cannot be explained," Mrs. Curtis offered. "If you wish to keep the peace with Mr. Carson after I've retired, you will keep your opinion of Lady Mary to yourself. Most of the time."_

 _"Thank you for the advice, but I wish you wouldn't speak so casually of retiring," Elsie answered._

 _"Who's retiring?" Mr. Carson asked in dismay from the doorway. As he had promised earlier, he carried the left over wine from dinner and three glasses on a tray._

 _"No one, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Curtis assured him. "Not yet, at any rate. Miss Hughes was just telling me about your exciting encounter with the young ladies this afternoon."_

 _"I wouldn't call it exciting," Mr. Carson dismissed, setting the tray on the side table and taking his accustomed seat nearest the door. "I'm afraid Lady Mary is in for a nasty shock when they explain inheritance to her."_

 _"Hopefully she'll have recovered from the shock she had this afternoon," Mrs. Curtis said with mock concern. She gave Elsie a wink that was unseen by the butler who was pouring the wine._

 _"What shock was that?" Mr. Carson demanded._

 _"Apparently, you disciplined her, Mr. Carson. Are you sure you weren't too severe?"_

 _"Severe?" The confused butler asked._

 _"You denied her a biscuit with her tea," Elsie reminded him. "Twice."_

 _Mrs. Curtis laughed but tried to hide it behind her hand. Mr. Carson was not amused._

 _"I take it from your tone that you think I should have done more?" Mr. Carson observed._

 _"You might have," Elsie agreed._

 _"Might I point out that it is not my place to discipline the young ladies," Mr. Carson maintained. "My role is to maintain order amongst the staff. It is for Fraulein Kelder to do so for the young ladies."_

 _"It isn't just about discipline, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Curtis argued. "It's about raising three girls to be proper ladies."_

 _"That is what a governess does," Mr. Carson reasoned. "That is how it is done."_

 _"Yes, but is it wise to leave a governess to perform such an important service alone?" Mrs. Curtis pressed._

 _"She has nursery maids to help her."_

 _Mrs. Curtis gave up and tasted her wine. Elsie thought she understood what the housekeeper was trying to say and took up the cause. "But Mr. Carson, a governess may teach them what is proper in the eyes of society, but who will teach them what is right? From whom are they to learn compassion; from Fraulein Kelder?"_

 _"Lady Grantham selected Fraulein Kelder from dozens of candidates," Mr. Carson challenged._

 _"Fraulein Kelder is about as compassionate as an ice sculpture," Elsie quipped._

 _"I trust Lady Grantham to choose who will raise her children and how they will be raised," countered and indignant Mr. Carson._

 _"But…"_

 _"I am not comfortable with this topic. It borders on sedition." Mr. Carson emptied his glass and rose to his feet. "Enjoy your wine, but I will not sit around, drinking The Family's wine and second-guessing the established way that children are to be raised. Good night, ladies."_

 _He left without another word._

 _"Good night, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Curtis called after him. She smiled at Elsie, who was still in shock that Mr. Carson had so rudely dismissed them and left._

 _"We were just having a harmless discussion," Elsie said incredulously. "It isn't as though we were plotting a revolution."_

 _"In Mr. Carson's world, questioning the establishment is only one step removed from inciting revolution," Mrs. Curtis informed her head housemaid. "We must pick our battles carefully, Elsie."_

 _"I shall bear that in mind," Elsie answered. The two women enjoyed their wine in silence. After putting her glass back onto the tray, Mrs. Curtis shivered visibly._

 _"Are you cold?" Elsie asked in concern._

 _"No," the housekeeper smiled. "I was just picturing Fraulein Kelder as an ice sculpture." She shuddered again as Elsie laughed._

-00-

"I should have listened to you," Charles admitted to his wife. "I taught Lady Mary to insist on having everything done properly, but I neglected more important lessons."

"As you said, it wasn't your responsibility to teach her anything," Elsie argued.

"I wouldn't have been able to teach her compassion in any case, never possessing much of it myself," Charles frowned. "I'm not even sure it's something that can be taught."

"Charles, do not sell me a lie about you having no compassion," Elsie barked sharply, startling Charles. "I have seen you be sympathetic to many people; Lady Mary, Mrs. Patmore and myself for a start. You just keep it hidden under a gruff exterior."

"Still, I failed to show Lady Mary the importance of caring for other people," Charles insisted.

"Maybe you didn't fail completely. She learned the value of loyalty from you," Elsie comforted him. "She has always been loyal to Anna. It's one of her few redeeming qualities."

"Did you just pay Lady Mary a compliment?" Mr. Carson teased. "Will wonders never cease?"

"If miracles are possible, perhaps Lady Mary will spare a kind word for Lady Edith someday," Elsie laughed.

"Even miracles have their limits," Charles chuckled. "I can't believe you remembered that day."

"Not remember Mr. Carson putting the little Miss in her place? Never," Elsie trilled in an exaggerated brogue. "That was a memorable time for me."

"How so?"

"Mrs. Curtis began grooming me to take her place. I kept asking why she was accelerating my training, but she always evaded my questions," Elsie recalled. "Still, I was excited to learn as much as I could from her; about Downton and about you."

"I remember the house seemed full of women that spring," Mr. Carson crinkled his brow in thought, trying to conjure up the memories. "His Lordship was off at the war, the recently widowed Lady Rosamund returned to Downton for her mourning, and Lady Violet practically moved back into the Abbey."

"And Mrs. Curtis' sister continued to decline," Elsie added. "With each letter she received, I could see her moving closer to retirement. I was very sorry for her, but the prospect of becoming housekeeper thrilled me. I wasn't sure if I was ready."

"I remember the day she called us into her sitting room to tell us her decision," Mr. Carson reminisced.

TBC…

* * *

 **AN/ We are VERY close to the end (1 or 2 more…plus an epilogue…plus an appendices…plus a graphic novel…) I will TRY to post everything by Saturday so we can all just sit back and bask in the Chelsie goodness (I hope) of the Series 6 premiere.**

 **FYI, I made a video and ChelsieFan was kind enough to post it on her Tumblr page. I forgot to mention it in the past few updates. I know at least ten people have seen it;) I suspect it's pretty buried by now with spoilers, etc, but if you are interested, look at her archive page for September 8** **th** **. It's just called Chelsie Vid. Her tumblr name is chelsiefan71.**

 **Alternately, if you have Tumblr, I can send you a link.**

 **For the video and these stories, I own nothing. I do this as homage to the work created by Mr. Fellowes and company.**


	30. Transitioning to a New Era

_It was early March when Mr. Carson walked into the housekeeper's sitting room expecting an evening sherry, but instead found brandy waiting. The moment he saw the expensive Cognac on the table along with three snifters, Mr. Carson's heart clenched. He knew that the dreaded day had arrived. Mrs. Curtis was going to announce her intention to retire from Downton._

 _The housekeeper was at her desk. She turned in her high-backed chair and smiled a greeting as Mr. Carson stood frozen in the doorway._

 _"Have a seat, Mr. Carson," she urged amiably. "Elsie will be joining us shortly."_

 _He sat down silently in his spot and waited for Elsie to arrive. He could not look Mrs. Curtis in the eye. She smiled kindly and turned back to her ledgers. Mr. Carson picked nervously at a bit of lint on his knee. He felt like a child awaiting punishment. Elsie arrived a few minutes later and took the scene in at a glance. To her credit, her step only hesitated for a split second before she moved to her accustomed seat._

 _Mrs. Curtis set down her pen and turned her chair to face her guests. "I think it's best not to beat about the bush," she said calmly, though her hands were twisted in her lap. "I have informed Her Ladyship that I will be leaving Downton after the Family leaves for London."_

 _Mr. Carson struggled to maintain a stoic demeanor, but, as ever, his eyes gave him away. Mrs. Curtis leaned forward and placed a hand over his as it sat clenched on his knee._

 _"Please believe that I did not make this decision lightly, Mr. Carson," the older woman begged. "It isn't only that my sister's family needs me, though they do need me. My sister is practically raising my grandnieces and nephews on her own while looking after her husband. She's done it for years, but she isn't strong enough anymore."_

 _Mrs. Curtis removed her hand from Mr. Carson's and sat back. Elsie gave her a small smile of encouragement before the housekeeper continued._

 _"Though I must admit it was nice to be surrounded by family. That is not my only reason for retiring."_

 _Mr. Carson wanted to argue that the staff at Downton were more family to her than her distant sister, but he held his tongue. Mrs. Curtis must have anticipated at least some of his thoughts for she smiled tenderly at him. "I will miss everyone at Downton, but this is a young house now, Mr. Carson, with a young family and a young butler. It deserves a young housekeeper who can keep up."_

 _Mr. Carson shook his head and opened his mouth to protest, but Mrs. Curtis cut him off._

 _"I've made up my mind, Mr. Carson, after a great deal of thought. Please support me in this difficult decision," Mrs. Curtis implored._

 _Mr. Carson gave a defeated sigh and nodded. "Of course I will support you."_

 _"Thank you. Now, please pour us all some Cognac," Mrs. Curtis directed. "I for one could use it."_

 _Mr. Carson found it painful to swallow as he uncorked the bottle. How could he do anything but support his friend? Still, he couldn't shake off his disappointment nor conceal his emotions from the two women. It was some small comfort to be doing something that came naturally to him as he poured out the Remy Martin._

 _When all three glasses contained generous portions of the fragrant liquid, the bottle was corked and each of them took up the glass nearest them. They sat in a thoughtful, collective stillness._

 _Elsie had remained silent until this point. While the decision impacted her as much as anyone, she understood that the important dynamic was between Mrs. Curtis and Mr. Carson. Now, she sensed that she was needed to facilitate the situation._

 _"Slàinte maith, h-uile latha, na chi 'snach fhaic!" Elsie toasted in her native tongue before translating. "Good health, every day, whether I see ye or not."_

 _Mrs. Curtis smiled at the sentiment and returned the salute, "Slàinte maith."_

 _"Good health," Mr. Carson muttered unhappily._

 _No more words were spoken as the Cognac was consumed. Mr. Carson felt the heat of the alcohol burn from his throat, through his cheeks and into the tips of his ears. It was a soothing sensation, but his belly was unsettled from the surfeit of emotions. He was the first to finish his drink. He set the glass back on the table, his hand beside it, stroking absently at the stem of the glass._

 _"I'll be sad to see you go," Mr. Carson whispered solemnly. "It's the end of an era."_

 _"I'll leave with a heavy heart, but it's the right time for me," Mrs. Curtis comforted him. "Eras must end, Mr. Carson, so new one's can begin."_

 _The butler nodded a reluctant agreement._

 _"Thank you for the Cognac, I've never had anything so fine," Elsie finished her brandy and decided to leave the heads of house for a more private discussion. "I have a few things to see to before I turn in, if you'll excuse me."_

 _"Certainly," Mrs. Curtis dismissed her. "We'll speak more on this tomorrow."_

 _"Very good. I'll bid you goodnight," Elsie smiled and rose from her seat. She offered Mrs. Curtis her hand and gave the housekeeper's hand an encouraging squeeze. Mr. Carson did not see this as he was staring blankly into his empty glass. "Goodnight, Mr. Carson."_

 _The butler stirred briefly from his melancholy to acknowledge Elsie as she left. "Yes, goodnight, Elsie."_

 _The housemaid closed the door behind her and left Mr. Carson and Mrs. Curtis sitting in silence. There were so many things Mr. Carson wanted to say. He wanted to make her stay. He wanted to tell her that she'd been more supportive of him than his own mother. He wanted to tell her that the prospect of leading Downton without her experienced guidance frightened him. In the end, he said none of these things._

 _"Dorset is so far away," Mr. Carson eventually pouted pathetically._

 _"The weather will be kinder to my old bones," Mrs. Curtis joked gently. It touched her to see just how upset he was over her leaving. She wished she could cushion the blow, but she had to do this for her family._

 _"I won't allow you to call yourself old. You're not even sixty-five."_

 _"Maybe I'm leaving a few years earlier than I'd initially planned, but I am confident that I am leaving Downton in good hands."_

 _"Yes, yes, Elsie is quite capable, but things will change," Mr. Carson frowned._

 _"Things always change, whether we will it or not," Mrs. Curtis soothed. "And Elsie will do very well, but she will need your help. It is your hands that I trust to steer Downton. I can think of no one I would trust more."_

 _Mr. Carson felt tears start to threaten. He fought off these emotions, telling himself that this was part of being in service. People come and go in a household such as Downton. It was expected._

 _"I hope that I will prove worthy of your confidence."_

 _"Don't look so sad, Mr. Carson. There is no reason to be sentimental," Mrs. Curtis tried to cheer him. "I'm not leaving tomorrow. We have almost two months to go. We can't have you moping around for the duration."_

 _This drew a small chuckle from the depressed butler. "I shall endeavor not to mope." With a large sigh, Mr. Carson composed himself outwardly and stood. "Goodnight, Mrs. Curtis."_

 _"Goodnight, Mr. Carson."_

-00-

 _Before breakfast the next morning, Mr. Carson was at the silver cabinet removing items for the day's service when Elsie stuck her head into his doorway._

 _"Good morning, Mr. Carson," she greeted. It was more of a question than a statement._

 _"Good morning, Elsie," the butler returned. "Was there something you needed?"_

 _"No, I only wanted to see how you were doing after Mrs. Curtis' announcement."_

 _Mr. Carson was both touched and annoyed at her concern. He became mildly defensive. "How should I be doing? People retire."_

 _"But it isn't every day that the housekeeper retires," Elsie prompted gently._

 _"Did you see this coming?" Mr. Carson demanded of Elsie, suddenly accusatory. "Because you didn't seem too surprised."_

 _"I didn't know, Mr. Carson, but it is not unexpected," Elsie replied calmly. "I don't think you are surprised either, though I understand that you would be upset."_

 _"Upset? I'm not…" he couldn't continue. The look on Elsie's face told him it would be pointless to lie to the head housemaid. He shrugged an apology as he removed a silver tray from its shelf. "Please don't think that my reluctance to see Mrs. Curtis leave is any reflection of my confidence in your abilities, Elsie."_

 _"I don't think that at all, Mr. Carson," Elsie smiled kindly. "Perhaps I will not immediately be the housekeeper Mrs. Curtis is, but I know with your help, I may improve with time."_

 _"She has every confidence in you," Mr. Carson assured her. "Which means, I do too."_

 _"Thank you for saying so, Mr. Carson. Hopefully that will make for a seamless transition."_

 _"Hopefully," the butler agreed, though doubted. It was his experience that no transition was completely seamless._

-00-

 _In the six weeks before Mrs. Curtis' departure, the changes came more swiftly than Mr. Carson could ever have dreamed. The outgoing housekeeper had handed her chatelaine to Elsie only one week after announcing her intention to retire. Mrs. Curtis had moved her things around in the office to make room for Elsie and was already stepping back from her responsibilities._

 _Mr. Carson was handling the upheaval admirably until two weeks into the transition when he walked in to find Elsie sitting at Mrs. Curtis' desk._

 _"What on earth is that?" He pointed at Elsie, agape._

 _"It is a swivel chair," she said proudly. "It was delivered this morning." Elsie twirled a bit, showing off the chair's mobility._

 _"What was wrong with the chair you already had?" Mr. Carson questioned._

 _"I don't know how Mrs. Curtis managed, but my neck will not abide turning to answer every knock at my door," Elsie said reasonably. "This will save me that trouble." She demonstrated by swiveling back to the desk and then back to face the doorway. Elsie smiled genuinely at the butler, who could not argue with her logic. Still, the change unsettled him._

 _"It isn't your door," he barked petulantly. "Because it isn't your office." With that, he stomped off, completely forgetting what he had come to discuss with the acting housekeeper._

 _Things continued in the vein for the next month. Mrs. Curtis and Mrs. Hughes, as she was already being addressed, were making dozens of tiny adjustments to the running of the household. They were changes that were logical and, arguably, overdue. Mrs. Curtis had resisted changing things too drastically while she was still housekeeper, but she agreed that this exchange of authority was a perfect opportunity to update some of Downton's practices. There had been a good many advances in the twenty years Mrs. Curtis had served as housekeeper. She had embraced some and postponed others._

 _Mr. Carson was in a perpetual state of unease. Very few of the changes affected him directly. He had little to do with assigning maid's work or scheduling their day. Still, he could feel the changes. In a silent but palpable way, the rhythm of the house was different. Different activities were done at different times from which Mr. Carson was accustomed._

 _The biggest change had been moving the servant's dinner from before serving to after. It was a change that Mrs. Curtis had long considered, but which Mrs. Rees vehemently resisted. When Mrs. Curtis had mentioned the idea to Mr. Carson he had objected. Eating after service would mean that either himself of a footman might miss the meal if the family needed attending. Of course, eating early meant that the lady's maid and valet were sometimes absent. Also, there was often a need to have sandwiches available for a late night of work. The truth was, Mr. Carson was not completely opposed to the idea, but he resisted it because it was the first change over which he'd had any say. Mrs. Curtis had convinced him that she would not make any changes without Mrs. Patmore's support. Mr. Carson agreed to this condition, relying on the stubborn cook to maintain the status quo. He was therefore quite surprised when the announcement came that they would be trying the new schedule for one week. It had been a success on all fronts and the change became permanent._

 _It was not a bad change, but it was change. All of the little variations combined to put Mr. Carson in a terrible mood for the final three weeks of Mrs. Curtis' tenure. For her sake, he tried not to take it out on the staff, but he was a ticking bomb._

 _Mrs. Curtis left the first week in May. The family had planned to be in London by now, but had changed their plans. They would now not be arriving in London until June. Mr. Carson was glad of the change because it meant that he was at Downton to say goodbye. The family had assembled at the front door to see their valued housekeeper off to her retirement. Even the Dowager Countess had come to pay her respect. Only Mr. Carson had accompanied Mrs. Curtis to the station. He had sent the carriage back and walked back alone, needing the quiet and solitude. Upon returning, he had sequestered himself in his office. Everyone tiptoed through the downstairs corridor for the rest of the day. The whole house seemed to be mourning with the butler. Mrs. Hughes kept her distance, respecting Mr. Carson's right to grieve the loss of his friend and colleague._

 _This atmosphere hung over the staff for several days. It wasn't that Mr. Carson was being unprofessional, but his sorrow made high spirits impossible. Mrs. Hughes' patience was wearing thin. Two days after Mrs. Curtis' departure, Mrs. Hughes had found one of her maids in the library crying for no reason. This decided it. That evening, Mrs. Hughes invited Mr. Carson to her sitting room for an evening sherry. They did not speak much, but the return of a familiar evening activity did improve the butler's demeanor the next day._

 _Within a week of Mrs. Curtis' leaving, the house was settling into its new rhythm. Mrs. Hughes was most pleased with the way things were going. The only complaint she had was a new habit of Mr. Carson's. He had begun comparing everything she did with the way Mrs. Curtis did them. From her rounds to the way she took her tea, Mr. Carson was constantly commenting, 'Mrs. Curtis never did that' or 'Mrs. Curtis would have…'. During the preparations for the Family leaving for London, this practice reached a peak._

 _They were sorting the luggage downstairs before sending the individual pieces up to be packed. Mrs. Hughes had a detailed plan for delivering the luggage to the proper rooms and she was giving instruction to the hall boys when Mr. Carson's disapproving voice began, "Mrs. Curtis always sent…"_

 _Mrs. Hughes whirled on the spot and confronted the meddling butler. "Mr. Carson, might I see you in your office? At once."_

 _Mr. Carson was shocked by her vehemence. He shrank back from her stormy countenance but managed to answer. "Of course, Mrs. Hughes."_

 _When they reached his pantry, Mrs. Hughes closed the door behind her and faced the perplexed butler._

 _"Mr. Carson, I have tried to be mindful of your feelings since Mrs. Curtis' retirement," she began with barely contained anger. "But I have my limits."_

 _"My feelings?" Mr. Carson questioned._

 _"I understand that this is a big change for you, but you must stop constantly comparing me to Mrs. Curtis."_

 _"Have I been doing that?" Mr. Carson asked, genuinely unaware of his transgression. For some reason, this angered Mrs. Hughes even more._

 _"At every chance, you have invoked Mrs. Curtis' name. 'Mrs. Curtis this…' and 'Mrs. Curtis that…' If I had a penny for every time you'd said Mrs. Curtis' name since she left I would be able to retire shortly," Mrs. Hughes fumed. "Mrs. Curtis is gone, Mr. Carson. You must accept that and support my authority as housekeeper rather than question and undermine me at every step."_

 _Mr. Carson stared blankly at the raging housekeeper._

 _"I do not want to hear one more word about how I am doing something wrong because I am doing it differently than Mrs. Curtis. Is that clear, Mr. Carson?"_

 _"Mrs. Hughes…" Mr. Carson began to argue._

 _"It is a 'yes' or 'no' question," she cut him off rudely. "Did I make myself clear, Mr. Carson?"_

 _"Yes," the butler answered meekly._

 _"Very well." With that, she tore open the door and exited. She cast him a scathing look as she closed the door behind her. It was a look which he would come to know, fear and love._

 _When Mr. Carson returned to his office after ringing the changing gong that same day he found Mrs. Hughes in his office. At first he was worried that she was still angry, but he saw at once that she was not._

 _"I only wanted to see if you could join me for sherry this evening, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes said professionally. "I've had a letter from Mrs. Curtis and I thought you might want to hear what she has to say."_

 _"Certainly," Mr. Carson replied cautiously._

 _"Good," she confirmed. "I shall see you at dinner then."_

-00-

 _The tentative knock on her door did not sound like his usual, confident rap. Mrs. Hughes felt a moment of remorse to think how she'd treated the butler, but there had been no other option. She swiveled around to greet him._

 _"I've brought claret from dinner," he offered, holding up the half full decanter and two wine glasses. "Lady Grantham doesn't drink very much. She's been drinking off this bottle for three days, but it will be past its prime tomorrow. It would be a shame to waste it."_

 _"Claret sounds lovely," Mrs. Hughes said, making sure to smile as she did so._

 _Her acceptance of the claret calmed him and he was more relaxed as he sat in his chair by the door. He poured the wine and pushed one glass to her side of the table as she relocated from her desk._

 _"I owe you an apology," Mr. Carson said seriously._

 _"I'm very sorry for the way I spoke to you earlier, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes replied._

 _"No, I drove you to it. I doubt anything else would have made much impression," he sighed. "I was honestly unaware that I was doing that to you. It hasn't been easy for me since Mrs. Curtis left, but that is not your fault, Mrs. Hughes."_

 _"Thank you for saying so, Mr. Carson."_

 _"Before we get to Mrs. Curtis' letter, I would like to speak to you about the correspondence between Downton and Grantham House during the season."_

 _"I understand it has something to do with Downton supplying produce for Grantham House," Mrs. Hughes answered._

 _"Yes. In the past, Mrs. Curtis and I coordinated that, but if you wish, you may communicate directly with Mrs. Flynn, your counterpart at Grantham House."_

 _"I think I would like to continue doing as Mrs. Curtis did," Mrs. Hughes accepted the olive branch Mr. Carson was offering, but couldn't resist teasing. "In this case."_

 _Mr. Carson accepted her joke with a smile._

 _"I know that your correspondence was an aspect of the Season which she enjoyed. I have very high expectations for your letters, Mr. Carson."_

 _"I shall do my upmost not to disappoint."_

 _TBC…_

* * *

 **AN/ I am trying to get the next chapter out before ZERO HOUR, just so I will not be influenced by canon. We'll see! OMG….IT'S ALMOST TIME!**


	31. The Prodigal Daughter

**_NO SERIES 6 SPOILERS._**

 ** _I missed my (self-imposed) deadline, but I will not be letting Series 6 canon influence this story… no quotes, no hints, NOTHING. Please keep any reviews spoiler free as well. Thank you in advance. Now…here is the first part of our conclusion…_**

* * *

"And your letters did not disappoint, Mr. Carson," Elsie assured her husband. "I hated that you were gone, but I could hear your voice in your writing."

"Your letters were important to me as well," Charles smiled. "It helped me to know that my home was being watched over by someone I trusted.

"As much as I resisted it at the time, I must admit that Mrs. Curtis made the right decision; for all of us." Charles kissed her cheek and held Elsie closer. "She had a good life in Dorset with her sister and the rest of her family. We did pretty well too." Mrs. Curtis had continued writing to both Charles and Elsie until her death during the war.

Elsie nodded but cast her eyes down and was silent. Charles picked up on her mood at once. "What is it, love? Have I upset you?"

"No, Charles, nothing is wrong," she tried to convince him.

Charles saw right through her. He wasn't always the most perceptive man, but he knew and loved Elsie well enough to sense when something was bothering her. "You are unhappy about something; something to do with Mrs. Curtis?"

"It's just…I hadn't thought of Mrs. Curtis in years. I can't help but think what a wonderful sister she proved to be and what a terrible sister I've been in comparison." Unexpected tears welled up in her eyes.

"What? Where's this coming from? You're a terrific sister to Becky," Charles insisted.

"How do you know? You only know what I've told you about Becky. You don't know the whole story," Elsie sobbed.

"Then tell me," Charles urged, holding his wife closely.

Elsie shook her head. "We're still in the middle of your story. I don't want to interrupt with my problems," Elsie argued.

"It isn't my story anymore," Charles soothed gently. "It's our story. And your problems are mine. Please, tell me what has you so upset."

Seeing her husband's sincere concern, Elsie knew they would go no further until she had shared the source of her distress. "When Mrs. Curtis' family needed her, she set her career aside and went to them. When my Mam died and Becky needed me…" Elsie couldn't complete the sentence.

"It's not the same thing," Charles argued. "Mrs. Curtis was at the end of her career. Whether her family needed her or not, she would have retired within three years. You were still at the beginning of your tenure as housekeeper.

"Mrs. Curtis' family were able to support her financially when she went to them and she had some little savings," Charles continued. "You said it yourself, you and Becky would have had to survive on a pittance. They're completely different circumstances."

Charles pulled his wife into a protective and reassuring embrace. "You did what you thought was right for Becky at the time."

"Did I? Maybe things wouldn't have been as bad as I imagined," Elsie reproached herself. "Maybe I told myself we'd have to live in abject poverty in order to justify doing what I wanted to do."

"I wouldn't believe that of you," Charles contended. "You are the most selfless person that I know."

"But it wasn't the first time," Elsie revealed.

"What do you mean?" Charles questioned. "Wasn't the first time for what?"

"It wasn't the first time that I shirked my responsibility to my family," Elsie confessed, very near tears.

-00-

 _"Elsbeth Hughes! How dare you!" Mother and daughter stood toe to toe, matching glare for glare._

 _"How dare I? It's more like, how dare you!" Elsie spat back at her mother with dramatic intensity only a sixteen-year-old highland lass could muster. "Da isn't even two days buried and you're taking up with farmer Macnee. Shame on you!"_

 _Siubhan Hughes' hand flashed so quickly that Elsie did not see the slap coming. She heard the sharp sound but did not feel the sting for a few shock filled seconds. Elsie's mother had never struck her in her life. The few times' Elsie had been disciplined, it had been a spanking delivered by her father that was more humiliating than painful. Elsie Hughes had never been hit in anger before. She did not like it one bit._

 _"Mam! Don't hurt Lele!" Becky cried, throwing her arms around her sister to protect her from any subsequent blows. "Lele, tell Mam you didn't mean it. Tell her you're sorry."_

 _"I'm sorry, Becky, love," Elsie smoothed at her sister's unruly hair. Elsie tried to ignore the lingering feel on her cheek caused by her mother's wrath. "I can't take back what I said, just as Mam can't take back what she's done."_

 _"You should not speak of things you don't understand, lass," Siubhan warned in a voice like ice._

 _Siubhan, known as Joanie to her very few close friends, was not a woman prone to anger. She was a woman of quiet strength. Her Robbie was the talker in the family. Siubhan deeply regretted striking her daughter, but the past few months had worn her nerves down to their very last fiber. It was bad enough watching her dear husband waste away after the first stroke, but she'd had the added stress of guiding a frightened and confused Becky through the process. Elsie had only arrived a few days before the end. The lass couldn't have known that Mr. Macnee had been angling for the farm ever since Robbie had fallen ill. Siubhan had spent many nights beside her husband's sick bed contemplating the future._

 _"I understand that you want to throw away everything Da ever worked for," Elsie accused._

 _"I don't have to defend my decision to you, Elsbeth, but I cannae run this farm on my own," Siubhan informed her daughter. Her voice broke with emotion. "Mr. Macnee has offered to buy the farm, nothing more. I've no thought of taking up with him or any other man."_

 _"Well he has thoughts of taking over more than Da's farm, mark my words," Elsbeth barked. "He's looking to take over Da's bed."_

 _"Is that the kind of vulgar mind you've gained working in Glasgow?" Siubhan was agog to hear such thoughts from her own daughter. "It's all well and good what farmer Macnee is looking for, but I'll tell ye that the farm is all he shall have and I mean to get a fair price. This money will have to set up Becky and me for years to come."_

 _"And after that? What happens when the money runs out?" Elsie demanded, already knowing the answer._

 _"I'll figure something out," Siubhan promised, but they both knew that Becky's care would eventually fall to Elsie._

 _Becky was still clinging to Elsie, near tears, but holding herself together admirably. Siubhan caressed Becky's shoulder and drew her distraught daughter into her arms. "Don't worry, we'll get a little room for the two of us, my sweet lass. How would you like that?"_

 _Becky nodded and clung to her mother as tightly as she had to Elsie._

 _"The Lord will provide," Siubhan insisted in that calm voice that always drove Elsie mad. It was the voice her mother used whenever she invoked the Lord's name. Siobhan was fond of speaking of the Lord's many blessings during the most miserable of times. It was a habit that never failed to raise Elsie's ire. Elsie believed that the Lord helped those who helped themselves._

 _"Oh, so the Almighty is going to send you a monthly stipend, is he?" Elsie asked sarcastically._

 _"Of course not," Siubhan smiled sadly at her stubborn daughter. "God sent me you."_

 _"And I'm to send a monthly stipend?"_

 _"No, not yet. I'll make sure Becky and I live within our means. Maybe I can find some piece work to do to stretch the money from the farm further," Siubhan speculated._

 _"'Further'?" Elsie asked. "Which means it will run out in the end."_

 _"They say God will never give you more than you can manage," Siobhan said philosophically. She kissed Becky's hair as if to emphasize the point._

 _"Sometime I think he's overestimated me," Elsie muttered before stomping out the door for a sulk._

-00-

"I left a few days later. Mam and I still hadn't made our peace. She wouldn't say it, but I knew that she was planning for me to take over Becky's care someday. When I returned to Glasgow, I gave my notice and found a new position. I changed houses twice more, eventually moving further into the country," Elsie frowned guiltily. "I only stopped when I was certain that my mother would not be able to find me."

Charles was shocked at the implication of Elsie's words. She had abandoned her family. The very idea appalled Charles and he could not keep it from showing in his expression.

"I ran away, Charles, I denied them like Peter and ran," Elsie sobbed lightly. "What must you think of me now? Do you think I was a good sister?"

Her self-recrimination caused Charles' own disgust to evaporate. "You were sixteen years old, Elsie. What young woman wouldn't want to run away from such responsibility?"

"They might want to, but most wouldn't," Elsie argued.

"But you didn't stay away, obviously," Charles pointed out. "You did make your peace with your mother and you took over Becky's care when called upon to do so."

"I almost wasn't able to," Elsie told him. "After three years, I wrote to them. I was doing well and earning good money, but I was desperately alone. I missed my family."

Charles nodded. He understood that feeling of isolation that came from having no family.

"I assumed they were still near the farm so I sent a letter addressed to Mam to the local post office, but my letter came back. The postmaster put a little note on the back of the envelope telling me they had moved away, but he could tell me nothing more."

"Surely she must have told someone where they'd gone," Charles exclaimed.

"There were a few neighbors I knew she would have told, but I didn't write to them. To tell the truth, it made me angry all over again," Elsie admitted. "Though I had abandoned them, I now felt that they had abandoned me. I didn't write again for almost a full year. When the anger wore off and the loneliness returned, I wrote to several of our old neighbors. Thankfully, one of them was able to give me their address. They were at Sunshine House in Lytham St. Anne's.

"I didn't think a letter was enough after the way I'd acted. They weren't so very far away and I had some money saved up. I gave my notice and went to find them with nothing but five pounds and a letter of recommendation in my pocket," Elsie remembered.

-00-

 _'Sunshine House' Mrs. Mulls's letter had said. It had been easy enough to find on a map after arriving in St. Anne's the night before. Now, Elsie was just a block away. The next turn would put her on the street where her mother and sister had been living for the past three years. Mrs. Mull had hinted that the house catered to 'people like Becky'. Elsie had no idea what that meant or what to expect, but that did not worry her much. Her main concern was how her mother would receive her. Would Elsie be welcome or would Siubhan send her away? The fear of it almost made Elsie turn back, but she had reached the corner knew it would be foolish to stop now._

 _Gathering herself for this last great effort, Elsie looked up the street. There was no question which building was 'Sunshine House'. Even if there hadn't been a circle of adults in the front yard playing toss with a ball, the brightly colored fence and door would have given it away. Elsie had only taken a few steps up the street when she heard Becky's cry._

 _"Aiiieeeee!" Becky burst through the small picket gate and ran down the sidewalk towards her sister, screaming incoherently all the while."She looked half mad and no one knew what had set her off."  
_

 _Someone ran after Becky immediately, though Elsie paid them no heed. Elsie was also running now, her eyes blurred with tears. Her heart swelled with love for her sister. They collided at a full run, almost running past each other in their excitement. Laughing and crying, the two sisters embraced at long last._

 _"Lele! Oh, Lele! You found us!" Becky exclaimed. At this, the person chasing Becky gave a small yelp and collapsed. Elsie realized that it was her mother. Siubhan was on her knees a few feet away from the sisters. Her hands covered her face and she was bawling._

 _"Oh, Mam!" Elsie cried and lurched towards her mother, dragging Becky with her. When she reached Siubhan, Elsie fell to her knees and threw her arms around her sobbing mother. "Oh, Mam, forgive me! Forgive me! I've missed you both so much!"_

 _"Elsie, mo nighean, of course I forgive you," Siubhan wept. "I've hoped and prayed that you would come to us. I've wanted to come find you, but I knew you would come back when you were ready. Still, there were times I worried you might never forgive me and there were times…times that I feared the worst; that something had happened to you."_

 _"I'm fine, Mam, I was just…I'm sorry I hurt you and Becky. I love you and I'm back."_

 _"Is Lele staying with us?" Becky asked hopefully._

 _"They might be able to put you up tonight," Siubhan offered before Elsie could answer. "How long can you stay?"_

 _"I'm between postings," Elsie answered. "I'm hoping to find work here in St. Anne's so I can be close to you."_

 _Siubhan hugged Elsie even more fiercely. Words failed her. Eventually, Elsie and her mother became aware of the scene they were making. Looking slightly abashed, they rose from the ground and straightened their skirts. With faces still wet with tears of joy, the family walked into Sunshine House; Elsie in the middle with her mother and sister leading her into their home._

-00-

"Were you not able to find work in St. Anne's?" Charles wondered. It seemed unlikely for someone with Elsie's work ethic.

"The work there is largely seasonal. I worked at an hotel for almost six months, but when the sea bathers left, I was laid off. They promised to hire me back in the spring, but I needed steady work. I found a position as a maid of all work at a house not too far inland. It was close enough that I could visit on my half day, but the pay was lousy," Elsie told her husband. "Still, they were kind people and I was able to learn a good deal about budgets and housekeeping. I stayed on there for a fair few years.

"After a while, I noticed that my Mam was slowing down. She was unable to take on the odd seasonal jobs as she once had done to offset the cost of Becky's care and to pay for her own room and board. I started sending them some of my salary," Elsie recalled. "I quickly realized that I would need to move to a bigger house with bigger pay.

"I changed houses several times. Each move took me further away from St. Anne's, but the money was worth it. I was happy that I could provide for my family. Eventually, my ambition brought me to Downton."

"It makes sense now," Charles commented.

"What makes sense?"

"Your attitude towards the Family. It was the only thing that I ever found lacking in you, as a housekeeper," Charles added hastily. "But now it makes sense. You moved around so much, you weren't used to becoming attached to those you served. If a larger payday was on offer, you would be gone at a moment's notice. It was only ever just a job for you; a means to an end."

"You make me sound like a mercenary," Elsie protested.

"There's nothing wrong with living that way. You weren't doing it for selfish reasons. You had your family to consider," Charles assured her. "It's just very different from how it was for me, so it was hard for me to understand. I've only ever served one house. I'd have worked for a tenth of what they've paid me."

"Don't tell His Lordship that, or he might take you up on it," Elsie teased.

"So, in the end, you found your family and, when your mother died, you began to pay all of Becky's expenses? I don't see how you can characterize yourself as a negligent sister."

"When Mam died, I could have moved closer to St. Anne's, but I didn't want to. It's strange to relate, but I felt like the same part of me that didn't want to marry Joe was the part of me that didn't want to leave Downton," Elsie said, trying to explain a feeling she didn't really understand. "I craved my independence. In many ways, I was trapped, but staying away from Becky fifty-one weeks of the year allowed me to maintain an illusion of freedom; free will."

"None of which makes you a bad sister," Charles insisted. "I suppose I can see how you might convince yourself of that, but I know better."

"How is that you know this, pray tell?" Elsie challenged.

"I've seen you put Becky first with my own eyes," Charles informed her.

"Really, when was this?"

"When you first told me about her. You nearly broke my heart and your own for your sister's sake," Charles reminded her. "You said that you were sorry that you couldn't invest with me and I believed you. Maybe you didn't regret it as much as I did, but there was some regret."

Charles looked down into his love's fathomless blue eyes. There was still so much to learn about her, his woman of mystery.

"The most remarkable thing is, despite that regret, there was no bitterness towards your sister. Your obligation to Becky jeopardized our future together, but you didn't resent her for it," Charles sighed. "I think that shows how seriously you take your responsibility to your sister. A youthful misjudgment doesn't change that. Deciding to remain at Downton doesn't change that. "

Elsie had never considered her situation in that light.

"I think you are an amazing woman and terrific sister. I'm sure Becky would agree."

"How can I argue with you?" Elsie quipped with a smile. "But you must allow yourself to be an amazing man. Most men would have blamed me for leading them on, but you didn't do that. You say that I could have resented Becky, but you might have too."

"How could anyone resent someone so wholly innocent? It isn't her fault or yours that she needs extra care," Charles protested.

"Not every man would see it that way," Elsie informed him. "It isn't just any man who could love a pauper. Which is probably why I love you and not just any man." She kissed his scratchy cheek and leaned her head on his shoulder.

"I don't like it when you demean yourself with that word," Charles frowned. "You are not a pauper."

"But I am, Charles. I keep it well hidden from the world, but I haven't a penny to my name."

"What's mine is yours," Charles argued, not for the first time.

"Let's not fight about this again, Charles," Elsie sighed.

Money had been a point of contention between them before the wedding. Eventually, Charles had convinced Elsie that they should make a joint account with their collective salaries. Out of this account, they would pay for Becky's care and any improvements on the house. Elsie would not let Charles sign any of his savings over to her, nor would she accept any allowance from him for clothing or other frivolities. She insisted on maintaining her budget from before their marriage. It was frustrating for Charles, who only wanted to provide for his wife, and it was frustrating for Elsie, who did not like feeling dependent on anyone, even if it was the man she loved.

"Alright," Charles accepted. "I don't want to fight either. What would you say to a spot of that port I brought along?"

"I'd say that sounds like a splendid idea," Elsie beamed, grateful for the change of subject. "And you can continue your story."

"You know most of it from here on, so there isn't much more to tell," Charles shrugged. "I was seduced by a stunning Scotswoman who wrapped me around her finger and made me her servant. I resisted as long as I could, but she was persistent and made me fall in love with her."

Elsie laughed at Charles' summary of their last twenty years together. "But you had the last laugh, Mr. Carson, because you've made her fall in love with you."

"The end," Charles declared.

"Not quite," Elsie protested. "All good stories end with a kiss and a promise of happily ever after."

With a devilish grin, Charles leaned down to give his lovely bride a lingering and sensuous kiss.

"And they lived happily ever after," he whispered when the kiss was done and they rested forehead to forehead. "Now, how about that port?"

Still chuckling Elsie followed her husband into the hallway that led to the kitchen. Little did she suspect there was one last surprise in store for her as part of her gift. Charles only hoped she would accept it.

TBC…

* * *

 **AN/ One more chapter! I bloody well mean it! ;)**


	32. Full Circle

Charles was waiting for Elsie in the hallway and they walked side by side towards the kitchen. Just before they reached it, Charles lay a hand gently on Elsie's arm.

"I've already set up the port in here," he said, indicating the door to his right. Elsie was confused. She couldn't think what room this was. She didn't even remember there ever being a door there.

"The workmen finished this a week ago," Charles informed her. "It used to be a sort of store room that was only accessible from the back of the house."

He opened the door to show her a little office not unlike her Downton sitting room. There was only one desk in the middle of the room, but it was set up to accommodate two occupants at once, sitting facing one another.

"We'll have accounts and things to look at for the house and I didn't fancy having to compete with the guests for a desk," Charles explained. "Besides, a butler without a pantry is like a bear without a den."

"We couldn't have a grumpy bear wandering the halls and scaring off the guests," Elsie agreed. The room was not yet furnished, but she was certain that a few little things from their present offices would make it feel like home very quickly.

"And there's the final part of your gift," Charles said, gesturing towards the desk. The port was there, but there was something else; a small box the size of a pencil case.

"Charles, we weren't going to buy each other anything," Elsie protested again.

"I didn't buy anything," Charles claimed. "But that doesn't mean I couldn't offer you something."

"But your story was my gift," Elsie insisted.

"No, my story was part of the gift," Charles argued. "Actually, I needed to tell you the story so you would accept your gift."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that I know your first instinct would have been to not accept it, but I hope very much I have convinced you otherwise."

Intrigued despite herself, Elsie approached the desk. She picked up the little box and felt its slight weight. She tried to ignore Charles watching her with trepidation as she speculated as to what the gift might be. It was too light to be jewelry. He knew she didn't wear much finery and the only gold she cared to wear now was on her ring finger. Besides, his story hadn't mentioned any sort of family heirloom of his mother's. Unable to think of any other possibilities, Elsie opened the box, folded back the tissue paper, and revealed the contents, a small, leather-bound black book with the words _'West Riding Bank, Bilton'_ embossed on the cover.

"A bank book?"

"You wouldn't let me put your name on my savings account, but I thought you should have an account of your own," Charles explained. "I know it's a vulgar gift and I don't like discussing money, but I we can't keep having the same fight over and over again. I want us to be in agreement."

"I told you, I can't take your money," Elsie protested, simultaneously angry and touched. "If you want to stop fighting over money, stop trying to force me to take yours."

"It isn't my money, it's yours," Charles argued.

"Putting it in another account and slapping my name on it doesn't make it mine," Elsie exclaimed. "It's been hard enough on me accepting that my name is on the deed to this house even though you paid for it. And you've insisted on paying for Becky even though she is my responsibility."

"Our responsibilities are shared now; Becky, this house, our retirement. It doesn't feel right that I have so much control over the major decisions in our lives just because I hold the purse strings. You must accept this money for the good of our marriage," Charles reasoned. "It will make us even partners, as we should be. As we've been for the past twenty years."

"I love you, Charles, for feeling that way, but I cannot take your money," Elsie repeated stubbornly.

"It isn't my money and it never was," Charles told her. "I swear to you, I have never deposited a single copper into that account."

"So, you've given me an empty account? You want me to start saving my own money?" Elsie wasn't completely opposed to this idea. It would be nice to have the means to buy Charles a Christmas gift, she thought.

"You can certainly add to the account if you wish to put some of your salary aside each month," Charles said encouragingly. He could see Elsie warming up to the idea.

"What do you mean, 'add to'?"

"It isn't an empty account," Charles informed her. "In fact, I've taken money out of this account on two occasions. The first time was over forty years ago when I took thirty pounds."

Elsie realized the truth at once. Suddenly, she saw Charles' reason for taking all day to tell her his story. "This is the money your parents left you?"

"It ought to be more, but the bank did not invest very aggressively," Charles apologized.

Elsie opened the book and looked at the first line of the first page. There she saw a figure written in her husband's steady and undeniable hand. She staggered a bit when she saw it. It was nearly twenty years' wages. It was roughly equivalent to all the money she'd spent on Becky's care over the years. Charles was beside her in a flash, his arms around her, steadying her.

"Your mother left this for you, Charles," Elsie protested feebly, still in shock. She turned in his arms to look up at her husband. "It's your father's legacy."

"Yes, but I never felt that I had any right to this money," Charles explained. "My mother wanted me to use it to live a life that would make my father proud; a life beyond service. She wanted me to be more than just a butler. How could I take the money if I rejected their wishes for me?"

"You are one of the finest butler's in England, Charles. Even if it's not what they wanted for you, your parents would have been proud of you," Elsie insisted. "And you are much more than just a butler."

"I'm not sure that's true, but I won't argue with you, love," Charles smiled gratefully. "One thing I know for certain is that I do have a life beyond service now and that is owing entirely to you. If you do not have the right to my father's money, then no one ever will."

"Charles…" Elsie shook her head. "This is too much."

"It's not nearly enough," Charles disagreed. "I keep thinking of my father's last message to me. _'Alas for those that never sing, But die with all their music in them!'"_

"What does that have to do with me?" Elsie wondered.

"Everything. Old Lord Grantham and my father focused on encouraging me to sing my song. But they and the poets forgot to mention a very simple truth..." Charles paused thoughtfully. It was important that Elsie understand. "You can sing until you are blue in the face, but it doesn't matter if no one listens."

Charles looked down, avoiding Elsie's eyes. He knew that he would cry if he dared to make eye contact. "Elsie, love, you not only encouraged me to sing my song, but you are the only person who ever listened to it. You saved me from that life of 'quiet desperation'. You gave my song meaning. You gave my life meaning."

Elsie was paralyzed. She had never heard such tender and vulnerable words. The fact that they were coming from her butler made the sentiment even more remarkable. He's changed lately, but this was more sensitivity than she'd ever thought him capable of. When a tingle of feeling returned to her fingers, she raised her hand to touch her husband's cheek. At her caress, he lifted his gaze to meet hers.

"Very well, if you insist, I will accept custodianship of your father's legacy," she conceded with a tearful smile. Charles grinned back at her, knowing she was referring to more than the bank account. "Though now that you've explained it, I think perhaps I should ask for more money."

Charles laughed heartily and picked her up in an enthusiastic bear hug. "I love you so much, Elsie Carson!"

Elsie laughed at his childlike glee. In accepting his gift, she had lifted a shadow from his life. The story of his life had been brought full circle. His past was finally reconciled with his present and future.

"Now, I believe my husband lured me in here with the promise of port," Elsie teased when Charles had set her back on the ground.

"Yes, yes, of course," Charles agreed eagerly and rushed to comply. In the blink of an eye they were both holding their delicate wine glasses. Charles sat in the chair at the near side of the desk and Elsie settled into his lap. They sat enjoying their wine and each others' company in their office in their home.

Elsie sighed with contentment and rested her head on Charles' shoulder until a thought struck her. "You said you'd taken money out of the account twice? I know about the thirty pounds for London, but when was the second time?"

"Just two weeks ago," Charles told her. "When I changed the name on the account I took the opportunity to transfer half the cost of the house into our joint account."

"You paid my share of the house?"

Charles nodded.

"Why did you put it in the joint account?" Elsie wondered.

"It gives us more money with which to make improvements on the house. I'm afraid this room wasn't exactly cheap," Charles admitted. "I hope I didn't overstep. We can transfer the money back if you wish, but I thought you'd want to be an equal partner. This is truly our house, Elsie, yours and mine together."

"You are a dear and sweet man, Charles Carson," Elsie declared, not bothering to fight back her tears of joy. "But your secret is safe with me."

"As much as I'd like to just give you everything you desire, my love, I fear you are too independent to enjoy that for very long," Charles observed.

Elsie was moved by this proof of how much Charles understood her. Most men would have demanded to be the head of the house and expected their wives to take a demure posture in financial matters. Charles wanted a true partner in life. She wondered if he suspected how very progressive he was being. Elsie decided it was safest not to point this out. She would not repay his generosity by upsetting his illusion of himself as a staid bastion of tradition.

"You know me too well, love," Elsie professed. "But you gave me everything that I desire when you claimed me as your wife and helpmate before our friends and coworkers."

"Well, I know a good thing when I see it," Charles joked.

"Hmm. I suppose I'm rich now. What shall I buy first?" Elsie speculated. "I'll need a swivel chair for my desk…and I'd like for us to have a radio. Maybe one would fit in the library."

"Let's not be too hasty," Charles stopped her. "A radio? I don't see any need for such a noisy contraption in our home."

"I'm sure our guests would enjoy listening to the news or to some music," Elsie contended. "Besides, if I pay for it, you can't shout me down." Her smile told him she was only half teasing.

"What have I done?" Charles chuckled. "I've given up my only hope of ever winning an argument with you."

"You never had much hope of that regardless, love," Elsie said playfully. They both knew that there would be fights down the line, but now they would be fighting on even ground.

"No, probably not," Charles agreed.

"I do know one thing I want to do with some of the money," Elsie informed him.

"What's that?"

"I want to take us on a trip."

Charles was intrigued. "And where might we go on this trip?"

"Paris," Elsie declared without hesitation. "I've always wanted to go."

"I can show you the Hôtel de Crillon. If you are very good, I might be able to arrange a tour of their wine cellar," Charles teased.

"I look forward to it," Elsie laughed but then grew serious. "Charles."

"Hmm?" Charles responded distractedly. The combination of the wine and his relief that she'd accepted his gift had begun to warm Charles from the inside out.

"All this talk today, about everyone having a song to sing…"

"Yes?"

"Well…you know I feel the same, don't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, no one ever told me I had a song to sing until you," Elsie confessed. "And, I'm certain, no one but you every bothered to listen."

"Then they've been missing out," Charles purred seductively. "Because you have a beautiful song, amongst your many other attributes." He kissed her just below her ear and continued to lavish her neck with attention. The wine glasses were long ago discarded onto the desk.

Elsie enjoyed Charles' gentle touches until she decided a change of venue was in order. "What does a wife have to do around here to convince her husband to take her to bed?"

"She need only ask," Charles answered with a voice husky with lust.

"Charles?"

"Yes, love?"

"Take me to bed."

"Yes, love."

-00-

The next morning Charles and Elsie lingered in bed for a few hours before starting their day. Elsie's head rested on her husband's bare chest. Charles' arm encircled his naked wife. They drifted in and out of sleep, enjoying the experience of waking up together dozens of times. It was as though they were trying to make up for all the mornings they'd woken in their lonely beds.

When Charles knew they were both awake, he gave a growling stretch before gathering Elsie closer to him. "You know," he began conversationally. "Before we married, I had never laid in bed naked."

"Why would you?" Elsie responded reasonably. If she thought his topic absurd, she did not say.

"I dunno," Charles shrugged, letting his usually impeccable articulation slip. "But it's nice; being naked I mean."

"Mmhm," Elsie agreed sleepily.

"There's something open and honest in it," Charles continued philosophically. "I used to not like being naked. I felt too vulnerable to be comfortable."

"But you don't feel vulnerable now?" Elsie wondered, emphasizing her point by running her hand the length of his torso; from hip to shoulder and back again. Charles gave an appreciative shiver.

"Of course I do, but it isn't such a frightening prospect. In fact, it's rather pleasant," Charles admitted. "If you had told me three months ago that it was possible to feel this vulnerable and absolutely safe at the same time, I'd have thought you mad."

"It's called intimacy, Charles," Elsie educated him with a chuckle. "This is how true intimacy feels."

"Well, it's wonderful," Charles sighed.

"Yes, it is," his wife agreed. She would have drifted back to sleep then, but she was distracted by Charles' hand slowly caressing the small of her back.

"There are other advantages to being naked," Charles informed her, trying to sound innocent.

"Are there really?" Elsie played along. "And what might those be, Mr. Carson?"

"Let me show you, Mrs. Hughes."

-00-

The contented couple returned to Downton that afternoon, holding hands on the omnibus and on the short walk from the village to the castle. Elsie saw it all with new eyes. She appreciated the fields and buildings from Charles' perspective. These were the paths he had walked since he was a lad. The tall trees that lined the lane had been saplings when a young hall boy called Charlie had dashed back and forth to the village on long forgotten errands.

The Abbey itself was transformed for her. It's high, strong walls had long sheltered the man she loved. Charles was the man that he was because of Downton and the family within. Elsie finally understood why he had given such devotion to the estate. Elsie was surprised to find that she could love the house almost as much as he did.

For his part, Charles was able to consider the house from Elsie's more detached viewpoint. While the Family would always have his loyalty, his own family came first now. Charles' priority was to care for Elsie and Becky. If he had to leave service to do so properly, so be it.

Though they had not set a date for their retirement, every day brought them inevitably closer to the day when they would leave this brick and mortar forever. It was an exhilarating thought for Elsie. Charles had made it clear that he was willing to leave this fortress for her. He was willing to abandon a place that had always protected him for a life full of vulnerability and compromise.

Elsie felt the weight of responsibility to her husband. It would fall to her to be his shelter when they quit Downton. Unlike the teenager who had feared such obligations, Elsie looked forward to this new challenge. She was confident that she could protect her husband better than Downton Abbey ever could because there was one fundamental difference between the two loves of Charles Carson's life…Elsie could love him in return.

The End

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 **AN/ So, that's (mostly) it for this mini-Universe [Our Little Dream/ Our Little Dram/ Saved By Your Love]. I think the reason my stories end up longer than I plan is that I find final chapters REALLY difficult. I freely admit that I'm as bad as Fellowes when it comes to handing out money. _Deus ex cash machina_:)**

 **Please do drop a line if you've the time.**

 **But WAIT! There's MORE! Since I am a sucker for an Epilogue…stay tuned for a very short one very shortly.**


	33. Epilogue: 1927

**AN/ Handkerchief recommended.**

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Epilogue:

 _April 1927, Cimetiere Sainte-Brigitte, Grasse, France._

In a cluttered corner of the Cimetiere Sainte-Brigitte, Charles and Elsie stood before a humble slab of cement, already crumbling after less than fifty years. It contained only a name and a date.

 _'Mayrn Carson  
d. Septembre 14, 1881.' _

Charles had been brave to this point. He'd come armed with a bouquet of lilies, a miniature Union Jack and a small brass plaque inscribed 'Beloved wife of Edward Carson', but the sight of this pauper's grave for his mother had pierced his armor. He wept openly but silently as he knelt to arrange the items carefully on the stone. He did not sob or wail. He simply let the tears flow freely down his face without shame. There were too many thoughts to articulate and too many emotions to feel.

Charles had been surprised, but grateful when Elsie told him that she wanted their trip to Paris, which was being paid for with his parent's money, to begin with a trip south to pay their respects to his mother. He had asserted that it wasn't necessary, but she had insisted. After all, she'd argued, he'd accompanied her several times to visit Becky and they were planning for the three of them to spend a week in Argyll in the fall.

Once the trip was agreed upon, Charles had always known he would bring flowers, of course. Then Elsie had suggested the plaque, to which Charles readily agreed. It seemed appropriate to tie his father, who had no grave to visit, to his mother's final resting place. The flag had been Charles' addition. He wanted to bring a bit of England to this foreign plot of land.

Elsie stood beside him, patiently waiting. She was also weeping gently. She knew that it had been a long and difficult journey for Charles to be standing here, processing the last of his long deferred feelings for his parents. They'd started their quest in the village of Valbonne, where Charles had been told she was buried.

A small grid of streets remaining from Roman times defined the old heart of the village located across the valley from a vineyard. The Abbey stood at the South end of this grid. Upon arriving, Charles and Elsie quickly discovered that there was no cemetery associated with the Abbey. Unwilling to give up without a search, Elsie and Charles had questioned some locals as best they could with their abysmal French. They had eventually determined that most local burials took place in nearby Grasse on a patch of chalky ground where nothing could grow.

High stone walls and tall hedges separated Cimetiere Sainte-Brigitte from the small community of Grasse. Beyond the ivy on the walls and the hedges, nothing grew in the cemetery. It was chalky and dusty. Little sprays of flowers left by mourners provided the only color within the stark landscape of mausoleums and monuments.

After the precision of the Roman streets in Valbonne, the unruly lanes of Sainte-Brigitte were a confusing labyrinth. Charles and Elsie would never have found the stone in that chaos on their own. Indeed, they had searched for two hours before deciding to take a break for some food to rejuvenate themselves with lunch in a nearby cafe. As Providence would have it, one of the old men lunching in the cafe had once been a caretaker at the cemetery. For the negligible price of a bottle of wine, he was happy to direct them to the corner where foreigners and paupers were buried. After that, it was only a matter of finding the right year.

"They didn't even bother to spell her name correctly," Charles whispered. He reached out to touch the place where the missing letter belonged. That little 'e' didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. It didn't change how her name was pronounced, but it mattered to Charles. He couldn't help but think that his life had been like her name on this headstone. Something had always been missing, but it wasn't something that most people would see or care about. He couldn't fix the inscription, but he could address the oversight in his life.

"Mum, I'd like you to meet my Elsie," Charles introduced his wife to his mother. "I know you'd have liked her."

Elsie knelt beside Charles, ignoring the popping in her knees. She hugged him tightly with one arm as she lay her free hand over his on the stone. "Hello, Mrs. Carson. It's an honor to finally meet you. I love your son very much," Elsie looked up at Charles and smiled at him through her tears. "I know you'd have been very proud of him."

Elsie lay her head against Charles' shoulder. They knelt together like this, touching the gravestone and holding each other, for several long minutes. There was not much more to say, but Charles was reluctant to leave. He knew he would never return to this place. When they left here, they would take a short bus ride to a train station which would whisk them away to Paris.

Charles' mind wandered to the thousands in England who might never visit their loved ones' graves in France. He remembered words that he'd read at the dedication of the Downton war memorial in a time that seemed so long ago. _'They sleep beyond England's foam.'_ He was glad that he'd brought the flag.

"Sleep well, Mum," Charles said with a sigh. He removed his hand from the stone and brought his wife's hand to his lips as they helped each other to stand. "Thank you for this, love."

He gazed down at the grave and offered one last, silent farewell.

"I would never have thought to visit but I'm so glad that we did," Charles said as they turned away. "You always know just what I need."

"I'll remember you said that the next time you complain about the radio," Elsie teased him as they began to walk back down the lanes of the cemetery. "Besides, it's a wife's job to look after her man. Now that we're retired, it's my only job."

"And you are quite good at it, Mrs. Carson," Charles complimented her. He took out a handkerchief and wiped her tears from her face before drying his own. They left the cemetery and turned towards the bus stop. "I hope you feel sufficiently compensated for a job well done."

Elsie smiled sideways at her husband. "If not, you will be the first to hear of it, Mr. Carson."

Fin

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 **AN/ Now, the wound on Carson's heart is fully stitched up and this story can end. Thank you.**

 **You will be hearing from me again very soon, but until then...Chelsie On!**


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